The pack had settled down, but the Latin mutt found her mind in other places. She'd come to this new home for Mars. It'd been his choice to run off, and her choice to follow, and as she leaned on the door frame of their shared home, she wondered if she'd have been better off staying behind. But all her thinking was interrupted at the call of a familiar voice. Shawchert wanted a congregation of minds, it seemed; as he was the leader, she felt obligated to find her way to him. Remaining silent, strange for the obnoxious woman, she ambled toward his call, distended middle causing her usual swagger to be distorted. Soon enough, she knew it would be over. Or she hoped it would. Pregnancy had done nothing but frustrated the often-happy lady-friend of Mars Russo.
When she came upon Shawchert, playing a soft song upon his flute, she took a seat on the ground, crossing athletic legs beneath her and resting her elbows in the hollow created by her knees. No one else had approached. For a moment, she felt awkward, but she remained silent as she listened and focused on the ground. In due time, it would be over, and she would be allowed to return to her home and sit while she and Mars contemplated the safety of the pack for their shared offspring.
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