Duskfire Glacier one heart going both directions

Lane was prepared. For the last several days, she had been consuming an herbal concoction that Iana helped her develop: juniper berries, ragwort, and raspberry leaves for calm, strength, and pain respectively. Off of the main chamber, they had carved out a little room to store herbs and medicines, which was well-stocked in the medicines that Lane and the other mothers might require during delivery. It put Lane's mind at ease, knowing that she was prepared for any scenario that she might face when her time came. 

Lane’s labor began when the light streaming through the ceiling of the caverns was still a dusky, predawn gray. She had been sleeping heavily, curled up in the little room she’d carved for herself off the main chamber. The first pain had startled her awake; her eyes flew open and her breathing hitched. It wasn’t until the second contraction rocked through her that she realized what was happening.

Footsteps, and a shadow approached. Lane snarled; she was a wounded creature, cornered.

No, that wasn’t it. She wasn’t wounded, per say. Even so, she still felt panicky, and she knew to the core of her being that she needed the others to stay away. She tried to relax, inhaling deeply.

“Could you tell Wintersbane it’s time?” Lane issued her breathy request to the anonymous shadow-person in the smallest of voices. Despite the request, when Wintersbane arrived Lane would keep him at bay with growls and snarls, just as she would anyone else who attempted to enter her little room.

By mid-morning, Lane made her first delivery: a half-formed fetus, her forfeiture for her most recent expedition. Lane consumed her shame, leaving behind no evidence of her firstborn. No one but Lane would carry this heartbreak, because she was wholly at fault. Guilt prickled at her heart, but she was allowed only a few moments to dwell in emotion. Her labor continued. 

Her second firstborn came into the world, mewling pathetically and squirming, and Lane thought she’d never seen such a beautiful sight. She licked clean the child-- a girl-- revealing hints of timber markings across a tawny, precious little body. She nudged the child toward her belly and settled in to wait, body trembling from exertion and heart thrumming with anticipation.

After waiting a long while with no more to show for it, Lane concluded that the girl would be an only child. She crooned a happy summons to those waiting in the main chamber, intending to introduce her daughter immediately to those she trusted: @Wintersbane, @Rye, @Tzila, @Imaq, and @Iana, if they were among those gathered outside.

@Wayfarer has landed. <3 Stand by for an incoming Veteran. Thread is All Welcome, but only those tagged will be allowed into Lane's room with the pups. For reference, Lane's room is inside the caverns, dug off of the main chamber pictured here. This chamber will later become the rendezvous point for Lane's litter, Tzila's litter, and any others that are born in the caverns if their mamas so wish. 

Her arrival was not a quiet one. The moment that her little body was forced into the unknown and something reached for her, she writhed desperately. She felt pressure, then the cold of air against her slick coat, and the suddenness of it had her crying out in protest.

She screamed. Squirming and wailing continuously as her mother nudged and prodded, swept kisses along the length of her dorsal, it would be clear to all in the vicinity just how well her lungs could work.

Soon she was dry and clean, but the not-so-sweet Summer child wasn't ready to settle when she was guided along toward the intended warmth and comfort of Lane's embrace.

Her time there, however, was short-lived. Stubbornly, as though to demonstrate a testing personality to come, the tawny newborn turned her nose away and began to shuffle off.

wintersbane is summoned with simple words of being time — the specifics of who uttered those words to him in the quiet of his patrol is blurred out and not important in the grand scheme of the situation.

forgotten as he makes his way into the greyfall caverns to lane's birthing den, the myriad scents: of birthing ( or the beginning of it ) and blood fills him with an anxious, breathless sort of joy and worry. which was stronger, wintersbane couldn't tell.

though these children were not his first in the sense of things, it was the first time he was determined to be more than a nameless, faceless donor and the knowledge that his path to fatherhood was being carved in the very den lane had chased him out of with snarls and snaps of her teeth — he felt as if who he'd known himself to be was splintering; the shattering of the old making way for the new, his self too small to contain the growth of the new coming.

he contemplates it all as he paces outside the den; heavy footfalls wearing a path in the dirt underfoot, steps rhythmic like the marching of a soldier.

not enjoying the feeling of uselessness, wintersbane pauses only when the first sounds of mewling — small and fragile to his ears — breaking the cascade of his own heartbeat and lane's labored pants and whines.

a child! his child —

he snarls at anyone who dares to enter the birth den before him — believing it is his right as father to be the second to lay eyes upon the cubs — and shrugs into the cavern lane's claimed as her own; glacial gaze falling upon the small cub, determined as she wiggles away from lane's belly; vigorous for a newborn.

the love that wintersbane feels for her — for she is a daughter — instantaneous.

ferocious, unrelenting and all consuming as it washes over him and settles into his bones.

she's perfect. wintersbane croons in his smoky grasp, bending low to very gently touch his muzzle to her back.

When Lane's labor began, Tzila had already been tucked in her own den. The end of her pregnancy was near. The pups would be coming any day now. Her lithe form was a thing of the past, her tummy bloated with the new life inside her. Squirming, kicking, pushing. Itching to get out, but not just yet. Unlike last year, during the final week of her pregnancy, she was taking it easy. She kept herself close to her den, just in case of any surprises. She spent her time adding the final touches to the spacious chamber carved deep in the stone walls.

Nosing at the multiple layers of furs and skins she had accumulated over the weeks, she was finicky in her decorating. These were Duskfire's children. Wintersbane's children. Maybe even Rye's. She felt a warm swelling of pride in her chest at just such a thought. They would want for nothing, having only but the finest. She had not been so selfish to hog all the skins and meat for herself. Frequently, she checked in on Lane, whose personal den was close by, but far enough from hers to offer personal space.

When she heard the groans and snarls of the agouti female, her dark ears pricked up. She instantly knew it was Lane's time. Yet she had not been the one to approach her, or to call out. Tzila was too uncomfortable to move a lot, much less get close. Besides, any laboring mother was to be given their respectable distance. The most she did was clamber to her feet to navigate the short tunnel to the entrance. There, she poked her obsidian head out into the open. Her face was riddled with intent concern, ever watchful. Lane was a first time mother. Tzila was not. All she could do was offer her silent support in her vigil from where she was, crooning lowly from time to time. Even when Wintersbane arrived, she did not rouse. Only sent him a soft, sweet nod of encouragement. Eventually, the smell of blood, afterbirth and new life filled the air. Followed by the mewling cries of a newborn. She smiled, tail tapping the ground, happy for Lane.

[size=small]

Skippable unless talked to, lmk if I need to change something

[/size]

[size=small]The news of Lanes labor had gotten to him by way of the wind, [/size]
[size=small]his ears were second to receive the news. The hotah was outside the den, roaming around, finding things to do but mostly keeping an eye out for danger. Ianas message had sent chills down his spine, he sought out extra patrols that week. Refusing to let anything slip past their borders that did not belong. All was safe and Lane was finally bringing forth her children. Rye respected Wintersbanes snarls, knowing full well it was the alphas right to see his children first. That didn't stop Rye from peeking in however he could to see the tiny lives wriggling about.[/size]

To keep things moving, I'd like to proceed from here in rounds with no posting order. Each round will last a week, and the next round will begin on July 7.

Lane smiled as Wintersbane entered, noting Wayfarer's perfection the moment he laid eyes on her. She might have replied, but she was distracted by the emergence of her her daughter's placenta. The sharp scent of blood permeated the air, and Lane felt the heavy, warm fluid slowly drenching her lower region. 

She turned away, shaken. 

Where was her pup?!

"Wh-?" 

Her eyes were drawn to Wintersbane as he bent, inspecting the child who-- while only minutes old-- had already struck out to explore her world. 

"Little wayfarer," Lane crooned, voice trembling. "She's already a daddy's girl. Wayfarer..." The title suited her, and it seemed well-matched to her father's own. Wintersbane and Wayfarer. Perhaps it was silly, but motherhood had inspired a newfound protectiveness in the Vitale, and she grasped for anything that might endear her daughter to her father, knowing that he would soon have trueborn children from Tzila. His mate.

Knowledge of the union between Wintersbane and Tzila stoked the old, original, primal fear within Lane-- the fear that her child would come second... that Wayfarer would be treated as a bastard, as less-than. 

"Wayfarer Duskfire," Lane finished, insisting upon the surname as they had previously discussed. Wintersbane might have changed his mind about the makeup of his family, but the girl's name would remind him of his responsibility to her once he had his trueborn heirs. She was a Duskfire, too.  

More blood oozed, accompanied by a pain. A labor pain? Were there more children coming, then? Lane hissed, breathing through the pain.

"Raspberry leaves, and chervil," she called out, "please." Hopefully, one of the shadows lingering in her doorway belonged to a caregiver who could produce the requested herbs-- @Rye, @Imaq, or @Iana.

I kinda power played here, I think? Let me know if I need to change something! @Lane, can power play as needed 

.

.

They were so impossibly tiny. Rye didn't know it but with each squeak, squall and whine from the mini Lanes, he made faces. Faces of endearment, enamor and reverence. They were not his fruits but by pack proxy, they belonged to Duskfire and in his eyes, that meant they kind of were. He would share the responsibility of ensuring their safety and that was a job to always take pride in. Rye would later congratulate Wintersbane but at that moment, acrid iron pierced the air and caused a stir from the hotah. It brought back the panic from the incident with Towhee, the frightening familiarity of the situation kicked his heart into overdrive. Lane gave orders and Rye didn't waste time following them. The raspberry leaves were easiest to find, the sweet smell of the berries guided his steps but the chervil took longer than he would have liked, still, Rye managed to pick what he needed. His legs carried him swiftly back to Lane and he pushed past anyone who was in his way. Apologies would be given later, Lane was the only concern on his mind.       

It was all so overwhelming. Previously snug and warm within the safety of her mother's body where she'd grown, the world beyond was intimidating. With the discovery of her own ability to move, she felt only the desire to seek safety. She scooted across the furs and nesting material scattered on the cavern floor, but her unused limbs tired quickly.

A guardian's touch came from above, gentle and reassuring, and the newly-named Wayfarer settled with soft mewls. Entirely unaware of the stress unfolding at her back, the tiniest Duskfire tried and failed to lift her oversized head in attempt to better explore Dad's muzzle.

Imaq was hidden away in the depths of the Chambers, in the place she had come to learn belonged to their tribe's women as her mothers' hearth had been in Nunaat. The she-dog had found her way there eventually with some trepidation, foolishly afraid she would not be accepted for reasons she couldn't entirely explain -- and not just because her common was still a bit shaky. 

A heavy blanket of black had ensnared the medicine woman, the type of exhaustion it seemed only pregnant women could understand. It took a while for the heavy scent of blood and the slightly sweet lochia-smell of birth to register as she napped, but when it did the expecting shepherd rose groggily -- blinking the sleep from her aquamarines blearily as she followed the low murmur of overlapping sounds. A strange symphony of soft voices, growls muffled by the stone walls, small whimpers that caused her ears to perk though she didn't yet recognize them as the cries of Lane's daughter.

Much as when Rye had injured himself, the speckled dove was reluctant to draw attention from where it may be needed most and instead sidled up next to @Tzila with a questioning look (maneuvering her swollen belly around the warrior-woman's even bigger baby bump) -- attempting to rise up on her tiptoes and peer over Rye's tawny shoulder, concern prickling at her as the smell of blood grew even stronger.

Veteran is here! <3 Just reiterating, there's no posting order moving forward. Next round will begin on July 19th.

Several more labor pains washed over Lane as she waited for the requested herbs to be produced, and with every contraction more blood oozed down her legs. By the time Rye was back, Lane was lying in a puddle of sticky red. It was all over her paws, her muzzle, in her nose, in her eyes... 

It marred everything except her perfect daughter, who was curled up safely with Wintersbane. 

Lane took the herbs from Rye gratefully, all too conscious of her harrowing appearance and her pungent scent. Of course, she was in a vulnerable and embarrassing position, so Rye was here to see it. Of course. She chomped down the herbs with gusto, remembering to chew particularly well with the chervil. The medicine was in the chewing, she knew. 

Both Wintersbane and Rye would bear witness to the birth of her son-- Tzila and Imaq too, if they had a view from the doorway. In a tide of blood and pain, the boy was born. He looked for all the world like a battle-hardened soldier, bathed in blood and surveying his surroundings with a heavy silence. This would earn him his name. "Veteran," Lane croaked, her voice sounding as weak and shaky as she felt. 

There were no more children coming, which was a blessing. If there had been another, Lane probably wouldn't have survived it. As it was, she only managed a few licks over Veteran's face before she pulled away, spent. Someone else would have to finish cleaning him... Rye perhaps? Wintersbane still seemed preoccupied by Wayfarer. Before Lane could ask, she was dropping into a dark, powerful sleep-- the kind that Imaq would know all about.

Veteran's introduction to the world was a cold, wet, sticky one. He wallowed in his little puddle of ick, squirming harder as each second passed, and the chill began to set in. He had not called out, because he had not yet drawn in a breath. 

Blessed warmth swept across his face in the form of a tongue, removing the ick that was blocking his nasal passages. Veteran dragged in his first horrible, painful breath, and then he breathed out a sound that would resemble a wounded sigh. No crying for this soldier. 

The warmth removed itself at that point, and the child swung his head around, throwing the tiniest little tantrum. Why did he have to be born? It was so lonely and so cold! And it had hurt! Breathing hurt. His belly hurt. Where was that sweet, snuggly thing he had been cuddling for the past three months? He wanted that back.

Lane's asleep, and we haven't had any additional posts for a month, so I'm going to let this fade here and archive. Happy birthday, Wayfarer and Veteran! :D