the wind carried her scent faint on its back—salted, light, softened by time and distance.
cole paused, nostrils flaring as he stood over the downed fawn, its neck already broken, blood warm at his paws. he’d dragged it from the grove in his teeth, leaving a dark trail behind him, streaked through brittle grass and low stone. the sun hung low in the sky, burnt orange and fading—too low for how long she'd been gone.
his heart thudded against bone.
he sniffed again. nothing close. just the whisper of her, lingering.
his eyes narrowed. jaw tightened. he shifted the weight of the fawn across broad shoulders, blood soaking into the thick fur of his nape. the pain in his joints sang a low, familiar song, but he bore it without thought. one paw after the other. through the reeds. down toward the old trail by the creek bed, where she'd sometimes gone when she needed quiet.
winnie, he muttered under his breath, not quite a call.
he was not afraid yet.
but he would be. if her scent faded much further.
he adjusted the kill across his back and kept going.

the creek called to her in whispers she felt only she could hear. beckoning her with gentle gurgles. the promise of peace and quiet. and, this morning, somewhere she may rest as nausea sinks its claws into her. that cough she had just a few days ago hadn't cleared. last night, she'd slipped away from the arms of her husband to vomit. she thought it was normal; morning-sickness, just another burden she'd shoulder with this pregnancy.

but within the bile lay speckles of blood, rich and heavy. it'd scared her, and she knew it'd worry Cole sick. and so she covered it up, put on a strong, sweet face, and tried to force it out of her mind.

she hadn't meant to be gone for so long, not really. the wash of the cool water over her paws and belly as she basks in the shallows soothed the sickness. she'd swallowed down bitter tinctures of herbs hastily tossed together and prayed that this cold relinquish it's hold on her soon. and for now, she wouldn't tell her husband. with so much already weighing on his shoulders, she doesn't want to burden him with her ailment.

it would clear soon. oh gods above, please let it clear soon.

she brings a soaked paw to caress her stomach. with a warm, tired smile, she exhales. please kick a little softer, my doves. laced with motherly affection, with tease. truth be told, she'd face whatever sickness came her way, as long as one day she gets to cradle their children in her arms and sing them lullabies. but even as she settles with a forced smile, she can't help but feel a blanket of anxiety overwhelm her.

he found her there. basking in the ripples of the stream. he had smelled her first— ocean perfumes with a sorta flower that he didn't have a clue what it was called— but it was winnie. pregnancy had been taking a toll on her, and in truth, it had been her own fault that she ended up this way.
though he didn't feel regret. only pride. until she slipped away in the early creaking-light of dawn to spill bile from her throat. he hadn't been worried, of course. women went through a lot of their own changes...morning sickness being one of them. that much he could assume.
when he stepped out from the golden blades of grass and onto the rocky riverbed, he gave her hind a nuzzle. assuming she was spooked, sorry, darlin'. he said with a broken smile, lowering the fawn just before her tail crested the water's edge.
feelin' better? his nose came to bless her crown with a soft kiss. his eyes escaped them as they raked over the swell of her abdomen, gaze swimming with a darkness that only she could understand.

he'd always come to find her. always. she had startled, but was quick to settle as his feather-light kiss graces her forehead. she leans into it with a soft, exhausted hum. you're alright, love. sorry i've been gone so long. she murmured as she presses her own kisses to the underside of his jaw, her tongue swiping away the blood that still stains it from his hunt. the ichor makes her stomach churn, but she doesn't allow it to break her concentration. the water helps with the nausea. he would understand...wouldn't he?

his presence does wonders to soothe her nerves, but it also serves to instill in her a shadow of a doubt. his eyes are shaded as they fall to her swelling stomach. her teeth catch on her bottom lip to stifle a quiet grunt as the pups in her womb kick at the sound of their father's voice. she exhales a quick, winded laugh, her eyes bright. always so bright, even when she feels the opposite. they love your voice, you know. every time they hear it they go crazy. a soft chuckle as she nuzzles his neck.

when she pulls away, her smile dims the slightest, and yet he'd read her like no other. i know this is all a surprise, and i haven't had the time to ask you...how are you feeling? about the pregnancy, she meant to say, but their children's endless stirring leaves her breathless.

he is wordless as she peppers kisses upon his jaw. the only satisfaction he gives is the soft hum from his throat. he moved to nose the current upward, sprinkling water droplets around her body. bathing her. she claimed it helped with the nausea, and he wouldn't imagine otherwise. he wasn't the one carrying a litter-load. this was a kindness he could afford. one only meant for her to witness.
as he nuzzles water further into the crevice of her shoulder, her all to thin body, he can't help but let out a chuckle of disbelief. my voice? he asks, already beginning to shake his head in denial. can’t be me, he said hoarse— like split cedarwood.
she pulled away from him, his touch. and that much alone had shocked him. but he had made no attempt to show it upon his features, his unreadable fucking face. that's what he had her for. the perfect little wife to express feelings for the both of them.
i didn't... i didn't think there’d be anything left, after all this. his face broke a little more. after ameline, ancelin— their own brood crushed beneath stone. tvar and his— how much could a grown man take? his own loss of his young daughter still haunted him. a shadow of regret that followed him how the moon chases the sun.
but he could not feel the darkness when he was with winnie.
ain't gotta worry 'bout me. he soothed. mended her anxieties. that wasn't good for children.
he stepped aside, out of the river bank. eat.

the water beads across her willowy fur like jewels. the coolness soothes her; drawing a deep, relaxed sigh, a breath allowed even as their children kick relentlessly at her womb's walls. she eases into a state of relaxation she'd only felt before this pregnancy, and she will savor it for as long as she could. Winnie is tired still. she assumes that all mothers must feel this way, as the pups inside her sap her energy and leave her feeling lethargic. you have no idea how good that feels, she smiles. soft, earnest. thank you, love.

her heart swells as she basks in the much-needed attention of her lover, only to be crushed beneath his confession. with soft, knowing eyes, she does not offer pity. it isn't what he needs. instead, she offers comfort. by pressing her nose to his shoulder, by peppering it with kisses so soft. i know. i didn't think there would be anything left, either. there's an ache in her chest as her mind wonders to the pour souls of ameline, her husband, and their children. all that lay beneath rubble, all they lay without peace.

was it so wrong to be relieved that there was something left? something left to nurture and love, while in the face of grief?

guilt has settled into her bones. she couldn't have helped...but still, she wishes that she could have at least tried. and gods only know the guilt that Cole must feel. he'd been so close with Ameline and Ancelin, much more than she could have ever hoped to be. he'd watched as their children tussled and had just began to experience the wonders of the world...only to face the harsh cruelty of it.

Cole does what he always has. he pushes it aside, compartmentalizes it. she can see it plain as day. it wasn't your fault, Cole. it was just...tragedy. words spoken lightly but with warmth. he didn't need to blame himself for it. it really was just a tragic, terrible accident that haunts him. it kills her, knowing it. they aren't in any pain anymore. that is what matters.

he's so wrong, thinking she doesn't need to worry about it. because that's all she does; it's all she's ever done. worry about the one she loves. enough to forget about her own grief. she simply didn't think hers mattered as her love struggled. she sighs as she heaves herself from the shallows to follow after him. don't talk like that. your grief matters. to me.

the thought of eating makes her stomach churn. but she must. for their children. with a grateful and small grin, she leans down to peel away the fawn's soft hide to reveal flesh and muscle. she feasts slowly.

he watched her.
the way the light caught on her fur, the curve of her belly rising with life— it brought a lump to his throat. from fear. from pain. from reverence. there was something sacred in her. something he didn’t know how to put words to, but felt in every beat of his heart.
and he still felt unworthy. unworthy of a second chance.
but she didn’t let him sink. didn’t let him drown in it. tragedy, she’d called it. he swallowed. her face stained red with the fawn meat.
still should’ve been me, he murmured against her fur. not them.
her voice pulled him back from that ledge. so soft, so steady. like she was the shore and he was always the tide. when she moved to eat, he sat beside her—not to rush her, not to pressure, but to be there. his paw brushed gently over hers.
i said i ain’t goin’ anywhere, he said, briefly glancing away towards the treeline. he had ignored her question of his own burdens, his own guilt. christ— he was a man, reduced to the same water between her paws. not while you and them are breathin’.
but it bothered her. he could see that much. and relented with a part of himself that he'd shred for her.
…you tell ‘em to kick me next time they get rowdy in there, yeah? a half-smile, crooked but no less real. tell ‘em their pa can take it.

if only he knew how her heart bleeds for him. how it always has, from the moment they met. how his pain and grief is not only shared, but felt. she wishes she could take it from him. so that he may be unburdened, unbound. happy. he truly deserves it, in her mind. a man that's walked with steps weighed down by pain deserved a lifetime of only the best. it is why she frowns as she eats. oh, my heart... you cannot think that way. even though she knows its hard not to. you cannot blame yourself. ameline wouldn't wish that on you. no one would.

you're alive for a reason. i couldn't do this without you. her voice wavers. it threatens to crack beneath emotion intensified by hormones and heart-ache. you're alive for twitch, our children, for me.

it may feel selfish, but it's true. their past lays beneath rubble, but their future is still breathing. it still has a heartbeat. and yet, she doesn't mean to dismiss the loss he'd faced. she wanted to embrace it, in a way that was healthy.

she didn't want to tread on any paws. she knows he deals with things so differently...and yet, she can't help but hope this offer is recognized from respect for those fallen. to help soothe his own ache. we could hold a celebration for them. to make sure they pass with remembrance. with care. they deserved it, to be put to rest.

another morsel is forced down her throat to feed the life blossoming within her. and with a soft laugh she says, i'm afraid that'll cause them to riot. they cannot wait to meet you. her eyes are gentle as they find him. her man, her husband, the father to her children. and i cannot wait for you to meet them.

he didn’t speak for a long time. just stared at the dirt, brow heavy, jaw locked, like he could bite through the ache if he clenched hard enough.
her voice— God, her voice— cut right through him. soft like dusk after a storm, steady like riverstone. don’t blame yourself. he heard it. 'course he did. he wanted to believe it. but grief was a beast he’d learned to ride bareback. it didn’t let go easy.
finally, his rough timbre rose like gravel underfoot.
i don’t know how t’ stop, he said, blamin’ myself.
his eyes lifted to hers— storm-dark and weathered, but full of something she always brought out in him: hope. like a man who’d lost everything, then heard the cry of a newborn and remembered what life tasted like.
he shifted closer, pressing his head to her shoulder. and at the mention of a celebration, something passed over his features— grief, yes, but softened. we’ll do that. they’d… they’d want somethin’ kind. not fire and war. just… rememberin’.
and at her laugh, his lips twitched, crooked and faint. riot, huh? he looked down at her belly like it was made of gold. they’re your kids. stubborn little fighters already. a beat. but they’ll know me. they’ll know how much i love ‘em. 'cause i’ll be right here. every damn step.
then, quieter, as he pressed a kiss to her temple—
and i’ll never stop thankin’ christ they got you for a mom.