Word Count:: 442 Derrhurr, I assumed Larkspur is hurr already. .__. ALSO assumed she took/found a cave, at least to use for the birthings. o_o Also hurrhurr you can just post here once or somethang. OR if you do not want to post here I will just mark it read only. IDK WUTEV YOU WANT WOMAN, YOU KNOW IDGAFFFF
What had started as a dull twinge in her abdomen had become an unbearable pain; rhythmic throbbing tore through her at regular intervals, causing the sable-shaded woman to twist and groan. She would grit her teeth, clamping her jaw shut so tightly she thought her teeth might shatter. She had not wanted anyone else here, not even Larkspur; she had wanted this to be done in secret and in private, her own little ritual for her children. She was afraid -- afraid one of them would look like a coyote, afraid one of them would be small, with bigger ears and a stout muzzle. She did not want this child to see the light of day, for it would proclaim plainly to all that she was, indeed, a Lykoi. Some twisted culling instinct had arisen in the Tuyul even as she drew ragged breaths, worn thin with exhaustion.
There was more difficulty than she imagined, and it felt like days since she had first limped into her chosen den and collapsed. Most of the torches were set up now, lighting the oft-used passageways through the cave. The place she had chosen, her own dank little hole in this underground labyrinth, was lit by only two small candles, both smoldering and flickering dull light around the small cavern. Powerful instincts took hold of the woman, and she found herself cleaning the first child, picking him up in her hands and whimpering as another wave of pain coursed through her. Nuzzling and licking him clean, he murmured a few squeaks and was quiet.
The next came soon after, smaller and almost dusky in coloration, dotted with a color found neither in her coat nor Larkspur's. The third was too still, too quiet -- weak signs of life stirred from the child after a moment, and the hybrid was satisfied, clutching these three close as a fourth, again quiet and still, emerged from her. There was a sense of dread from the woman, but the puppy moved, albeit slowly and weakly; something in her, some deeper mothering instinct, knew the puppy would not last the night. She did not pick this one up, but instead slowly leaned to her side, her chartreuse eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Settling the three good puppies down, she curled her two-legged body around them, wishing she had the strength to shift. There was nothing left, however, and the hybrid breathed a tired sigh, curling her arm around her children. For all she had expected at the sight of them, there was little joy in the sable-shaded woman. Faintly, she wondered if there was any of it left for her anywhere.
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