nothing endures but change
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     The labor had begun two days ago, during the height of the thunderstorm. Aurèle had known it was coming, and been holed up in the small den in the high grounds. The pain had been immense, but not unfamiliar. Through this all, the crow had been with her—silent, but helpful. He had shown her where prey was, and acted as a hunting companion when she needed it. In those last days, when she could not hunt, he found her carcasses that kept her belly full.

     Both children had been boys. One had the unique collar that his father had—both were a muddled white and gray, and she was certain that they would darken over time. She had cleaned them as instinct compelled her to do, and waited out the storm. On the second day, she had moved them back to her own den. They were there now, sleeping far in the back. The Aston woman sat outside, watching the storm clouds threaten to break, and waiting. She would no doubt need to hunt soon, but for now, she was content to enjoy the cool air.


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