BIRTHING ORDER: Monty, Adelinde, Thrip, RAIZEL, Alric , Sorella, Eidel

---

It started the moment the sun retreated past the horizon. Unfathomable pain in her torso, the sudden need for everything to be perfect. The nest must be plush and comfortable, their burrow pristine, the pack silent and away from her. Even the slightest of sounds made her tense, the smallest fraction of her attention being diverted from the current situation made her frustrated enough to weep.

Time moved slowly; the world grew so dark that nothing outside could be seen. Golde couldn't tell if it'd been minutes or hours, but at some point, she was rendered deaf and blind to everything beyond the burrow's maw. Her regard honed in on her children, and only her children. Even the father's nearby presence was neglected as her body churned against the contractions. She was silent save for the occasional soft rumble or whine of agony.

And as each infant was finally born, the world, for a fleeting moment, would pause. The surreal feeling of realization hit with each and every soft squeal from the newborns—that she was a mother. No longer 'soon to be a parent.' A mother.

7. There were 7 whelps. Ears sealed and eyes closed, squirming against her heaving flank. Golde's tongue lolled out between her jaws, eyes glazed from debilitating exhaustion. Her side was resting against Hexx's as though his stable presence were a lifeline.

Through her fatigue she shifted, lowering her head to gingerly press her nose against each little body as they nursed. The feathery brush of her tail slowly swept against the floor.

All of the fear she'd felt while pregnant—how the pack would react, how Hexx would react, whether or not she would even succeed as a mother—melted away as her body finally felt at ease. They were all alive, breathing, making sweet noises that made her heart melt. Something primal was roused deep inside, and that was when she knew.

There was nothing in the world that Golde wouldn't do for the sake of her and Hexx's children—her little family.

---

Note: Forward dated to April 1st, 2025. Please let Hexx respond first before anyone else.

skill; n/a
notes; n/a

---

"I'll do whatever it takes (I'll make a million mistakes)
I'll make the world safe and sound for you
Will come of age with our young nation
We'll bleed and fight for you
We'll make it right for you
If we lay a strong enough foundation
We'll pass it on to you, we'll give the world to you
And you'll blow us all away
Someday, someday"

Since the first false alarm it had become harder and harder to get good sleep. Each time Golde stirred, made a noise, or shifted against him he would wake. Silver eyes falling upon her to ensure she was well, his eyes would scan across her frame, dance to the opening of the den to search for movement and then eventually settle back down for another few moments of rest. And then repeat.

Tonight was different, today was different. Golde's scent had changed and when the sun dropped behind the horizon her discomfort became more and more apparent. Antsy as the soon to be father was, Hexx had stayed impossibly close altering his position from fiercely guarding the entrance of their den and returning to check on her. He wanted to allow her space, while also ensuring she knew he was near; and as much as he trusted certain individuals in Dawnbreak ─ here and now tonight not one soul outside of their family would come within proximity of their home. It was something raw, something instinctive that drove him. Cold eyes scanning the horizon and tensing when he would note movement. Ensuring it passed before he would return to Golde's side.

As they began to arrive, Hexx reluctantly retreated from his position at the door, curling his massive bulk around Golde's weak and quivering frame he would tuck himself to allow her to lean against him. Watching over Golde's shoulder, gently the soldier would preen and groom her trying to offer a sense of comfort. ❝ I won't let anything happen to you, ❞ he promised as the delivery drug on.

There were so many of them, and Hexx stared in awe at the tiny lives that wiggled against Golde's breast. The lives that they created. And his silent promise he had determined weeks prior extended to them now as well. It was hard to draw his eyes from them, watching each of their chests rise and fall steadily - ensuring their safety and wellbeing. After he confirmed and double confirmed, his gaze turned to Golde. ❝ Look at them... ❞ he rumbled, moving to press his forehead to hers for a brief moment before trying to find her eyes ❝ ...How are you feeling? ❞ she seemed stable, tired as he expected, but he needed to hear it. Needed to hear she was ok.

❝ speech ❞

skill; n/a
notes; n/a

---

He was the first born, the first evicted from the warmth and comfort into the cold night air. An impossibly dark round heap of fur that could barely be seen against the shadows of the den. And like his father; the boy was seemingly unimpressed by his new reality. He squirmed and grunted in bitter gruffness more than he squealed. And if his ears weren't glued to the side of his head they'd be pinned to further display his absolute annoyance.

When he finally wasn't alone, the boy would scramble, scooting his body in a reluctant attempt to seek additional warmth from his siblings. but even as he piled up with all of them, he grumbled and complained, defiant in his 'if I have to' demeanor.

❝ speech ❞

Nameless. Formless.

All but warmth.

Rebirth, yet without understanding. From one realm of warmth to another, though not without the brief bite of cold, a fleeting sting that forced her from the quiet Before into something raw, vast, and unknown. It passed in an instant, swallowed whole by the cradle that now held her — soft, dry, and humming with a heat that curled against her supple newborn flesh.

But even in darkness, she could sense it. The Beyond. No longer an abyss of nothingness but a world alive and thrumming with sound. Muffled, familiar, yet startlingly close. A world she had always known, but only as an observer. Now, she was one of its inhabitants.

Instinct stirred within her fragile chest.
Tiny limbs, so new, so uncertain, flailed in clumsy protest. Her pliant paw met the curve of her skull, mapping the shape of her existence. Unlike in the Before, she was untethered. Free to move, to push, to resist. So, resist she did.

Then—pressure.

It seized her, rolled her fragile body in a wave of sensation. Wet, suffocating warmth enveloped her. Lungs, once stagnant, convulsed against the stillness, air forcing its way inside in jagged, sputtering gasps. The world expanded, stretching far beyond the narrow, shapeless void she had known.

This… was feeling.

Suddenly, she was not content to lie still in silence, to fade into the hush of the cold beyond her. No. A force deep within her chest, something primal and unforgiving, coiled and struck. A ragged, piercing cry erupted from her throat. Sharp, demanding, unshackled by the weight of the unknown. The sound startled her, if just for the moment, but exhilaration triumphed, and the little wolf willed herself forward.

More. More!

And so she wailed again, her small body writhing in fervent hunger. Not just for the sustenance her body craved, but for presence. For space. For the world to know she had arrived.

In the After, she was not alone. One after another, the Others were whimpering, squirming, yowling, flailing — just like her! She crawled to them with desperate wriggling until she was met with a much more tempting instinct, and in that heartbeat, she remembered the Hunger. The whelp clawed and clashed, forcing a way through to the supple flesh she sensed before her, disregarding the fellow bodies she had longed to meet not a moment ago.

No, now she must eat.

Wheeze.

A sound—a noise, straining puffs; frigid aches of indigo, navy waves and splattering beryls: waxing and waning heaves.

Constriction.

Agitation.

Wrong.

Rustling and warping, waves of sepia and umber and something new and right, but there is a wrongness; prevailing, overcoming, persistent.

It develops, changes, alters, and causes friction: pain.

Then, a falter: clarity in a young mind: a shift.

It isn’t enough, but the gasping—opened mouth, gums, and tongue peaking—ebbs.

There’s warmth—new and exciting and right in the midst of this wrongness—lulls, hums, a lullaby.

This body: strange, yet his and mine and connected to theirs, shambling others of his scent and mind and love: his.

A passion.

This new pudgy form, flailing, scrambling, pushes, heaves, and waddles into his giver; this is texture, tresses tangling and softness and a radiating something he cannot yet name.

The wrongness lingers, but there is more to be found.

It is midnight when the magic begins to take hold; when the magic of childbirth takes our beloved Golde hostage for a few beloved moments to deliver upon a birth of zibn.

A birth of zibn perfect little malakhs; so perfect in form that time is held captive, for the briefest of moments - and when the dual of roses enters, he is silent & still.

He is just there, replying on his other three main senses (touch, taste, smell) as his hearing and sight are a bit compromised; it may appear that he is stillborn, but his nose is working in overtime - gathering in the scents of those around him before he turned at the touch of his mother, turning to place his little head on her nose and there he would suckle.

That is, until he realized no milk came from her nose, and thus Raizel suckled harder with a most pitiful cry.  Where was the milk?

One by one, each ball of soft fluffy fur came into the world. Each just as adorable and unique as the last. Then came the one that would set themselves apart from all the rest. A child born from nightmares and dreamscapes. A near perfect mixture of gold and onyx slid from his mother, eyes still shut tight from the world around him. Ears were tucked tight against his head. But his nose was going a hundred miles and hour, teaching him his first lesson in life. It was time to find food and security.

Little Alric found the tiny strength he had to start crawling his way towards his mother, a voice high pitched as he screamed his way towards her like a great storm. And as soon as he found her, and what would be food, the chimeric child latched on and began to suckle. The warm liquid flowed down his throat, filling his belly until he was completely content. That was when the screams became content and somewhat peaceful little grunts as he began to fall asleep. A job well done for such a small yet mighty creature.

---

As cruel as the cold air felt against her own dampness, it was new.

She sucked in a lungful of air and sputtered several times, coughing in a series of distressed, tiny squeaks. It was only after she mastered the rhythmic action of breathing that she thought next to cry, but before the sound could escape her pink maw, something slid her into a great mass of warmth and good-smelling-scent, and it was then the moment had passed.

Even at such a tender age, barely seconds old, Sorella was easily mollified by the things she wanted.

The cry died in her throat as she latched onto her mother's side with focused accuracy.

Other small, warm things jostled around beside her, but she paid them no mind for now. Sorella set her attention wholly on the good-smelling-scent and the hunger in her belly.

Skill: N/A

---

All she knew was warmth. Nothing but darkness. Silence. Stillness.

And it was all ousted from her at once—the stagnant world was flung into motion. There were smells of things which she couldn't comprehend. The burrow of snug warmth was suddenly replaced by a cold, hard floor. Fur damp, plastered to her little body, Eidel mewled in protest, confusion—the vibration felt strange in her throat. It was all new.

Yet, in truth, it wasn't. Eidel was the new one—the world had been there, always.

The young pup could feel other forms writhing by her sides, all of whom were allured by the same odd presence—that smell... a sweet, milky scent, beckoning her forth towards a soft mass of warmth harboring the promise of nourishment.

The dark-furred pup's questioning squeaks were lulled as she latched onto her mother's flank. The others could fight and squirm, move about as much as they wished.

Eidel was content to simply nurse, bask in the warmth of a nurturing embrace.

Skill: N/A

---

It had taken a long time for Golde to finally catch her breath. Lapping her tongue over her pale nose, she shifted her head to gaze at Hexx, heeding his question. '...How are you feeling?' The mother softly grinned, turning back to her young. After everything—the fears, the pain, the exertion—she certainly wasn't expecting the euphoria that filled her body, now.

Her body shifted, turning to further lean against Hexx. She let her hind leg stretch outwards as though to make the litter more visible to their father. Tired, she murmured back, her voice hoarse, but... I'll be fine. She dipped her muzzle to, once again, gingerly brush over each body. Her brows raised and ears flickered forwards when she felt tiny lips latch onto her nose, whining in protest and confusion from the absence of milk. With a breathy laugh, she nudged the pup away and back towards her flank.

Hazel eyes glanced over them once, twice, thrice—and finally, she noticed. A pup donning fur of deep, slate gray and a warmer amber. The staggered movements of his chest, the near-silent wheeze in his breath.

Golde tried to stay calm—but she couldn't. Her heart rate spiked, her lips thinned sharply. She urgently bent her head down to lift the runt between her jaws, gingerly resting him in the warm crevice between her forelimb and her sternum. Hexx— her voice shook, this one, his breathing. It isn't right. She pressed her snout into the small chest, pressing frantically as if to expel whatever problem may be festering in his jugular.

To no avail.

For a fleeting moment, the others were ignored as she continued to prod at the newborn's lungs. Her breaths grew shallow from panic. I don't know what to do, Hexx... her voice wavered desperately. She turned her gaze away from the wheezing pup to look over at her lover behind her.