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Machidael is by Nat!
He imagined they had, but perhaps it was just imagination. In any case, she'd never denied him physical pleasure -- though surely the time would come when her whole body was too sore to engage him. Machidael did not like to think of such times, but knew he might always find other entertainment, should he care to look for it. There was always something or someone to do, after all. She did at least also tolerate these necessities -- though he hadn't explained it to her in such blunt terms, she seemed to want to show off her state, as well. Her back arched to push the tiny swell of her belly forward, and Machidael became aware she was looking at something. Or, someone, as it turned out, for the wolf chose that moment to call a greeting.
Machidael's ears perked up at the strange -- yet familiar -- words. They were not of his language, but he had heard similar enough in his travels through his homeland. Disentangling himself from Verenna, who was grinning widely and waving, the idiot -- Machidael stepped forward. Hi. Do you speak Arabic? he asked, in his mother tongue. Verenna kept pace with him, having at least ceased her waving, and was now walking with a hand on her tiny belly, looking as proud of the little bump as a mother fit to burst.
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