Vanadis stood at the stone entrance, too afraid now to leave it for any length of time. There were enough herbs to last her, just in case, and the den had been carefully excavated to fit the swell of her stomach, a couple of cubs, and Viorel should he choose to enter. It wasn't much, but then again with everything they'd had to endure as a pack, she never found the time to do anything more.
Eventually, standing grew uncomfortable, so she sat. When sitting became unbearable, the woman paced. Unfortunately, movement was not enough to drown out her thoughts, her fears, or the anxiety that came from the unknown. Would she be a good mother? Was she too selfish? Too prone to flights of fancy and too drawn to excitement? They would look at her like she had all the answers, like she knew everything, but what if she didn't have the answers? It was terrifying.
The pain began just after nightfall, forcing her paws to still as she slipped inside of the den. It was different now than it had been before, moving more towards actual pain than discomfort, so Vana knew they were coming. She tried to focus, panting through each contraction and counting out her breaths so that she would know how frequent they were, but that quickly devolved into silent panic, so she took to tidying the piles of sweetgrass, ergot, and lavender as if giving herself a task might ease the shaking of her limbs. It was hard to resist the urge to call for Viorel because she didn't want to be alone, but some stubborn part of her refused the comfort that he would bring.