Herbalists' Cache the promise

dated for midnight march 6. puppies will not post yet— i'd like to call all the ladies of saatsine: @Gjalla @Black Hawk @Nagruk @Other Shore @Nutuyikruk @Ishmira @Meleeys to post once before hand; optional, you don't have to!

the snow rages outside. thick, blinding, endless. the sky has fallen upon them. night has drawn its heavy curtain, sealing the world in shadow, and still the flakes come, hissing as they pile against the shelter’s walls.
star eater stumbles inside, breath tearing ragged from her throat. her belly, swollen with the chieftain's harem, aches with every step—tightening, burning. her legs shake beneath her, and when the caribou furs finally catch her, she collapses into them with a sound that is not pain, not quite—rage.
the day’s ruin spins behind her closed eyes. the argument, the insults, the snapping teeth of men who thought themselves gods and kings while her body became the battlefield for life itself. how dare they? how dare they?
her lips peel back, a snarl, a sob, all at once. and then—she throws her head back, drawing in the coldest breath the night has to offer, and howls.
a sound long and raw, shaking the very marrow of the snow shelter. desperate. commanding. a summons meant for women alone.
she calls for them. for the ones with steady paws and sharper minds. the ones who know what it is to be torn apart and still rise from the bloodied earth.
gjalla is already there. of course she is.
gjalla, star eater pants, pushing herself halfway upright, clutching at the swell of her belly as another ripple of pain carves through her. bring them. all of them. anyone who can stand. i need their hands.
the wind howls back at her from outside, battering the shelter with icy fists, but the fire inside her burns hotter still.
we will do this without them, she spits, venom for the men who warred while the children turned within her. as women always have.
the night is long, the storm unforgiving. but star eater steels herself, jaw set, ears pressed back against her skull.
blood of my blood,
she will not face it alone.

a wretched howl splits the sky in twain, and ishmira stands upright. it is an awful sound, of rage and of power and of violence. it stirs something in her she cannot name. it is instinct alone which summons her to star eater's side. she is silent, a ghost against the cave's sprawling walls, and the fierce scowl upon her young face speaks all. no man will pass. not  blackfell, not sun eater.

it is too early for the children, this much she knows. the pain wracking star eater's body sends a chill down her spine, infests her with a fear of what her own future may hold. does she really want this for herself?

no. and perhaps star eater doesn't, either, but the babes are coming now. she turns to gjalla, posture rigid.

"tell me what to do."

the chaos of the earlier events were a torrent that barraged her. overwhelming, sinking, igniting—an inferno and storm twisted into something volatile. it had all started over a noble deed; ridding filth from their lands, removing one less threat from the lives of the pups about to be welcomed into the world. 

the timing is terrible, and this is known by all. black hawk had stormed off from that quarrel with hackles raised and eyes lit with fury hardly contained. she wished to remove herself from them all, for she feared what she would do. 

but then star-woman's cry beckons her. a plead, a command. she does not hesitate. she breaks into a heavy run, eyes wide with surprise and worry. her cousin and his ignorance set aside—as star-woman and her babes were far more important. 

she stormed toward the shelter, chest heaving, tongue lolling from her jaws. at the entrance she stands broad and tall, meets gjalla with a knowing look. inside, she can see star-woman. heaving, troubled, angry. 

she does not intrude. "i am here." give her a direction, an order, and she'd follow.

gjalla moves before she thinks. already, she is at morwenna’s side, already bracing her with steady, unyielding strength as the woman buckles beneath the weight of what is to come. her ears are flat against her skull, her breath curling in the cold, but there is no hesitation in her. 

she knew this was coming. had felt it, just as surely as she felt the rage that had burned in their earlier confrontation. a storm outside, a storm within. how fitting. and now, it begins.

morwenna howls, and the world shifts. the den walls tremble with her voice, a summons that cuts through the night, through the snow, through flesh and bone.

gjalla does not wait for the others to answer. she will bring them. she rises in a rush, pushing past the shelter’s furs, stepping into the raging dark without an ounce of fear, only concern for her star-sister. the wind bites at her face, howls at her ears, but she is unmoved.

her voice is a whipcrack in the storm, sharp and unrelenting. a resounding call, the song of a siren. to me! she calls, her voice raw with urgency. all of you. she needs you. now! she does not need to say more. they will come, and she will skin the ones who don't.

the snow rages, but gjalla is already turning back, already throwing herself into the firelit shelter where morwenna waits. her breath is fast, sharp, but her voice is steady, as it always it. "they are coming," she says. it is not a comfort. it is a promise. "i have you, sister,"

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edit; SORRY when i was writing i didn't see people replied — text below addresses BH and Ishmira <3

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gjalla meets their eyes—ishmira, black hawk—and she sees in them the same fire that burns in her own chest. a knowing, unspoken understanding strings between them.

the storm outside rages, but here, within these walls, the war is theirs to fight. she does not waste time. 

"black hawk—" she turns to the older woman first, seeing the stiffness in her stance. "watch the entrance. no interruptions, no distractions. keep the men out. we do not need their help nor their words. if they try to enter, remind them where their place is tonight."

she does not need to say anything more. it is already understood. 

"ishmira—" gjalla shifts her attention, "bring what furs you find. check the healer's cache for pasque flowers and saskatoon berries."

She had been pacing about, numbing a throbbing nervousness using the bitter cold. She did not know what it was about tonight that left her fears sprinting, pulsating.

It was the howl that snapped the panic within her. The winds smothered what she could make of the call; Other Shore could not tell who it was. But it sent her running, rising and bolting so quickly her feet were already taking her through the dragging winds before her mind understood what was happening. 

Another desperate call in the air - To me! Another voice Other Shore did not quite know. Instantly she knew who the howl belonged to.

The babes were coming, she realized, and it was then that she went flying through the trees. 

At last a clearing swept into view, and it was there she found a den all too familiar. She ducked into the entrance and found the midnight bloodhunter already there. Alongside her were two women, one with a pelt of snow, and the other with a strong frame and dark markings. 

And there was Star Eater. There was merciless pain twisting her face, her body, and so, so much rage. Fighting a battle that a woman should never fight alone. 

She turned to the bloodhunter - Gjalla. I will help. Give me your command.

we will do this without them,
a mother's rage; sides shuddering, morphing around a collection of warm dark bodies in a warm, dark place. there is a limit to her being—she is not aware of it exactly, but it is there and it is new. for a long time she was only the warm and the dark. there was nothing to differentiate brother from sister from mother—then came the big bang of one voice, two, scattered, sounding off for war. a man's voice, a woman's, a mother.
keep the men out—
she can feel herself turning against her will. reaching, punching, trying to stop it all, trying to stay here where it is safe, to avoid the change that was coming. it was too soon! it was too soon and she was not ready. she did not want this.
as the bundle of darkness drops from mother star, there is a frenzy; more voices, more movement, but so, so cold!
the caul is cut, and she is free. but she does not want to be here! she is soundless, this lump of blackness; slick and shining like oil, covered in the ichor of a new mother, she does not cry out, and only barely moves as autonomic function forces her to breathe, and little else.

BABIE TIME, since ghe'naya already posted, next is : @Cede then @Caan and finally @Faliya

the herbs work between her teeth, bitter and dry, but they bring a bloom of warmth that travels through her veins. not enough. nothing could be enough for this—the ache that splits her, the carving open of her body as life crawls free.
she says nothing. she does not cry. does not scream.
but she trembles.
her sides quake as the first pushes free, slick and small. a girl. she turns, drags her tongue across the babe’s damp spine. the taste of birth is iron on her tongue, thick and heavy. a daughter, she thinks, and the thought alone nearly undoes her.
then another. and another.
a boy. then his brother. and then the last—small, fragile and dark, a puff of shadow torn straight from her father’s back. she cleans her slower than the rest, more thorough, as if her love might fill what the cold has stolen.
four. four stars to follow her.
tears streak the dark of her cheeks, hot where they roll through the frost. they fall without her notice, quiet as the storm beyond the den’s hide. they are not grief, nor joy. they are simply the release of all things held too tightly. the weight she carried alone, at last, shared.
her breath comes ragged. shallow.
she does not lift her head until she feels gjalla’s shadow nearby, the rumble of black hawk's guarding, the soft shuffle of ishmira tending the den. they are there. they answered. she does not have to look to know it.
...you did well, she whispers, voice rough and thin like cracking ice. her gaze falls upon her children. her future. their future. my starlings.
her tongue slides gently across the girl’s head. the first to arrive. the boldest.
burn bright.

a white star in a blanket of eternal midnight. the singular white star. he had felt as if he were free falling, a streak in the black of siblings and a mother’s fur.
he had crashed, and exploded into a million fragments. his voice loud when he took his first cry, a sorrowful lament that rivaled the greatest of bards.
a furious little boy, a calamity. he was not quiet until he felt his mother’s first touch and was snuggled into her belly fur, against the side of his sister.
then: peace. peace in the wake of war.

As with every new star, the beginning of Caan's world starts in darkness.

It is in the dark he is shaped. His being fashioned from the same model of the countless generations before him. A form left to him in a miraculous code that he would never understand beyond the miracle that life simply is.

His awareness of this miracle is fleeting. Confined in ways he does not understand, but it is warm. It is warm, and he is fed, and he is safe within this crucible of life.

He is not alone here.

Others crowd beside him. Brother and sister are words unknown, but he understands that they are like himself. He can hear it, the beating of their hearts. They beat as does his own and this knowing of their existence is his. They belong to him as he does to them. Bound in blood, spun from the same brilliant stars, and forged together.

He also knows that their maker has been with them since the beginning, for he hears her heart too. It both envelopes him yet sounds far away. The ever-present cadence of which will be the most soothing lullaby he would ever know.

His is safe with his maker, and her other creations. There was nothing more to existence then the contentment that came to it.

Until his maker became enraged.

The soothing song of her heart was no more. It now beat as a wardrum, started by the battle of biology and other things beyond Caan's comprehension.

He was not ready for any of it. The cramping, the pushing, and the jostling that came in relentless waves. His heart raced in tandem with his maker's. The safety of the darkness having been stripped away, and the warmth he had been accustomed to was replaced with the coldness of fear.

Then Caan fell to the earth as a star. Newly born.

He is wet, and freezing, and weighed down by the remnants of birth. His paws paddle wildly, the world is still dark. The caul is removed from his body, as a loving tongue cleans him. They are warm. He draws first breath, and his voice leaves his mouth in desperate, fearful cries.

Where is my maker? Why did she cast me here?

He is then drawn to his maker's side, assisted by someone unknown. She does not the feel the same as she had before. She is soft beneath him, but warm all the same. And the beat of her heart dances beneath her skin.

His fear washed away, Caan rest his head against his mother's belly, reunited with the others of her creation.

His mother's heartbeat soothed him just the same.

darkness. all she has ever known is the crushing press of it, the heavy, suffocating warmth of her mother’s womb. it is not cruel. not yet. here, she is nothing but a twitch of limbs, suspended in stillborn peace. her world is muffled. her world is safe. 

until it is not.

there is a shift—violent, sudden. her world begins to close in around her, pressing too tightly, squeezing, forcing her downward, outward. she does not understand. she does not have the mind for fear, not yet, but something within a tiny, unfinished body knows this is wrong.

she flails—weak, pitiful. her limbs are too small to fight. her mouth parts, but there is no air to scream. only pressure. only the world falling apart around her. no, no, no. she does not wish to leave. she does not wish to be born. she curls in on herself, as if that might stop it, as if her fragile spine might somehow hold her within her mother’s cradle. 

the push is unbearable. it crushes soft little ribs, wrings the pitiful air from underdeveloped lungs. she is expelled into the cold with a sudden, brutal force—and she knows nothing but wrong. she does not know the word death, but she feels it. gnawing at her little bones, curling its fingers around her slowing heart. she cannot breathe.

her body hits the ground like a fallen star—tiny, lifeless, black as night. she does not cry. her mouth hangs open, but her chest does not rise with first breath. there is no air. no warmth. only the deep, yawning ache of a body not yet ready for this world. 

her mother’s tongue comes, rough and urgent, raking over her ribs, coaxing life that does not answer. the blood is still wet. and then—

cold air floods her lungs like fire, burning and raw. she shrieks, a high, frail sound that barely registers as life. her limbs curl against her belly, too frail to stretch, too small to seek warmth. everything hurts. her chest feels like it is caving in. 

her mother pulls her close. the heat is unbearable, like molten stone against skin too new to bear it. she squirms, squeals, as if she cannot stand to be touched. her siblings press against her, too large, too loud.

but she cannot leave now.

star eater had never felt so raw.
the pain had dulled, her body healing, but in its place remained something deeper—something that would never leave her. this was war. the battle for life had raged through her, and here, in the aftermath, she looked upon her fallen stars, scattered and small at her belly. four of them. two sons, two daughters. and the last, the smallest, black as night, the twin to her father.
she breathed, deeply, as the runt whined against her teat, too small, too frail, but living. she would live. star eater willed it, and the world would bend to her will.
her tongue swept over each of them, rasping and insistent, their tiny protests ignored. they were hers to protect, hers to keep, hers to forge into the future. and she would keep them safe. she had kept them safe. and the first step in ensuring that…
she turned to other shore, her voice calm, steady, yet firm with an authority that would not waver.
tell the chieftain he has four healthy children. two sons, two daughters. a pause. then, colder, sharper—he is not allowed to see them until i allow it.
these were her children. not his. not yet. they were the heirs to her legacy, the only things in this world untouched by failure. she would not let him lay claim to them so easily.

will archive this in a few days!

The women gathered. Young women. Women who likely had never had children before. Some too young to even have them. 

Meleys on the other paw had done this before. A great many times, as it were and ever season since she could conceive savor this year. Strange for her not to be swelling with pups of her own. To say that she missed it... would be a lie. 

She had birthed again and again while wed to a man of weak seed. Each pup too weak to keep up with the march. Each pup not surviving the Lanzadoii way. These were pups of her brother and they would be better. 

Blood still coated her face and forlegs when she arrived. Out far on a hunt during winter storm. She heard the call on the wind and now smelt the blood and birth of new pups. She takes a deep breath, pushing her pibald face into the entry. There the women were gathered around their Queen and among the four women, four children. 

I will tell my brother. She says only, passing a glance between those gathered before turning and stalking after the scent of @Sun Eater.