she's trouble in a tank top

I know better than to think my time isn't coming soon, I may not be as big as I thought, but I am reading all of the signs. Recently I have been cleaning up the den, lining the floor with shedding fur from spring, feathers from birds, pine nettles from the trees. I made the den as comfortable as I possibly could, and I have waited for about a week now, laying comfortably within the den, looking out each day at the sun rise. I am more excited than I thought I would be for the birth of my pups, though I am worried over how small they seem, my stomach not stretching the way it had when the girls were born. It hurts now to think of Saraquel, but I try to push her from my mind for the time being. I don't want to be sad in the coming of my second litter.

I watch the moon as she crosses the starry sky, each of the dots of light seeming to hold more and more mystery and magic. A smile crosses my face and I am calm, relaxed, at ease. This is when the pressure starts, it is not sharp, only starting, and I grin, howling for my beloved. My bell-like song ringing out into the night. I know he is not far away, for I can feel him close, just not as close as I would like him to be. I do not want him too far from me in case there is trouble I cannot fix. I get up, minding the way I move for my body is beginning natural work, my sides do bulge outward, and the muscles tense, making me seem bigger than I am. There is a pain relieving plant near my den, and I pick off a few of the new budding stems, chewing on them as the contractions grow. I pick some of this plant, moving back inside my den.

I feel another bout of pressure, this time sharper, and they only grow in intensity as the night wears on. I pant, but it doesn't hurt as much thanks to the magical plant. Not to say there is no pain, it still hurts, it is simply a distant pain, there but not. I smirk, relaxing in the den, my muscles loose as I let my body do things naturally. I shut my blue eyes, my body telling me it is time to push, and I do, weakly at first, then more strong as an hour passes. Soon I have a little pup, dark as his grandfather with my own father mixed in. I see a replica of Zeivah's mark, the red blanket across his rump and hips. I grin and clean him off, making sure that it is not imagined. I make a soft sound, humming gently as I move him to my belly. He is so strong already, taking to suckling quickly even as he whimpers and grunts, his tiny body pressing to me. This birth was easy, and I look out of the mouth of the den, smiling.

The sun is rising and a name comes to my mind. My white tail waves, despite the pain such a thing causes me. I wait, listening to my body even as I whisper in my Latina. "Fili, procreassent tu quasi noctem obscuro adoperta Angelis et sanguine: et stellas. Vos autem vos notum per vestigia relinquamus, erit vobis in perpetuum Ragnarok vocabitur." My son, dark as the night you were born to, coated with the stars and the blood of the Angels. You shall be known by the trail you leave, you shall forever be called Ragnarok. I smile proudly, looking to the mouth of the den, repeating my words in soft english. I love him, so very much, and I do hope that Zildjian will bring our Zigzagel so she can meet her younger brother.

Female ;; 7 years ;; heart and soul of Zildjian ;; Spirane