The river king remained silent, merely observing the blue-eyed sparrow as he gave his silent encouragement, a soft smile still pressed against his pale features. He could not imagine how difficult the process was, especially for a first time mother, and he knew no matter how many comforting words he offered her none of them would lessen the pain. Once the ordeal was finished he would praise her and dote on the mother (and their children), but for now he watched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with excitement.
The bliss was short-lived as another river wolf approached. He did not linger against the trees like the raven Baranski; instead he approached Lachesis’ tail-end, dropping something at his feet. Without hesitation the ghost scrambled out of the den, his upper lip curling to display his pearly whites. As his chartreuse gaze fell to the water-soaked bundle of moss at his paws he gave the dark wolf a soft nod to show his gratitude before returning to the den, the moss gripped tightly between his teeth. As he resumed his position the earthy scent of Lorcán followed him inside, a smile returning to his lips once more. He was pleased to see that their packmates had arrived to support the second.
Once inside he pushed the moss toward Lilya’s head, his peridots refocusing on her tawny frame as another wave shook the younger wolf. Another daughter greeted them, her pelt much darker than the first. Two daughters. Two perfect and healthy daughters. He beamed at the sparrow, his tail wagging slowly behind him (despite her not being able to see it).
However it was not over yet.
His brows narrowed softly as another bundle of fur appeared, the agouti quickly scooping up the newest addition and repeating the same process she had done with the previous two. But something was not right. It was not working. His heart thumped in his chest, his ears falling to the side as he whined softly, refusing to believe what he already knew. As his name fell off her tongue Lachesis met her sapphire pools reluctantly, a frown tugging at his lips. There was nothing he could do and the thought ripped at his heart, leaving his throat dry and his eyes damp. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he scooted closer, pressing comforting kisses to her forehead and her muzzle. “It’s okay,” he repeated, unsure if he was trying to convince himself or the new mother, “it happens. It’s normal.” It was not normal, though. It was his son, who would never experience the wonders of Relic Lore and grow alongside his sisters. But it had to be okay. “They are so beautiful,” he whispered, motioning to the two bundles of fur that were nestled tightly against the sparrow’s stomach. “And so is he. You did good, Val, I’m so proud of you.”
He could not help but wonder if the attack had been the cause of the stillborn. He knew that it was not uncommon, especially with new mothers, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from growing dark. The ghost wanted to blame the mutt for the death of his son because it was better than having no explanation. It did not stop the ache that formed in his heart but it helped.