Oh such grace! Oh such beauty!
And lipstick, and callous
and fishnets and malice

After the romantic encounter between herself and Abraxus, she had spent much of the cold winter by herself. She hunted voles, a few rabbits, and scavenged with the best of them. She did as she always did, she survived. Not only that, she thrived. Within her grew puppies, though how many, she was not sure. She had found herself a few dens that she rotated through and prepared all three. The forest was full of abandoned dens and as long as no den smelt stronger of her than any other. Like hell was she give any predator the sinking suspicion that she lived in any of them.

When the contractions rolled through her abdominal muscles, she did not seem overly concerned. Instead she made her way steadily through the forest into the closest den. She settled in for what she would assume would be a long haul. The birth was actually fairly quick, the first pup slide from her easily and she was not exhausted. She cleaned it up, nestled the little girl beside her and encouraged her to latch on and feed herself. The next did not come as easy. The next daughter of Harridan was a monstrous beast, apparently taking after her father. She grunted, and pushed a little harder. There was a release, but the pain that came with it was more than the pains of birth. The blood that came forth was more than what normally came. Harridan was acutely aware that this second, larger daughter of hers had torn her way out of her. She grunts, as she picks up the wiggling, wet pup and sets her down between her front legs.

She cleans up most of the blood as best she can, drying the second born before placing her near her sister and resting. She tried not to move too much to give her body time to stop the bleeding itself. She watches her newest children and hopes that this time more than one of them would survive. She looked over her first born, who was far darker than that of the second monster. To her she whispered quietly, "You shall be Maud. And you shall survive." It was the only real story of the blood they carried. They were survivors. They were creatures that had lived through the worst and moved on. That would be their legacy.

It was only then that she heard the heavy footsteps. She damned the den then, unable to scent the wind or creep around. Instead her tail covered the twins, and she tried to hush them. Little did she think that she had forgotten to name her second-born. Instead she laid her head around her tail and watched the entrance of her den. She would protect them or die trying. It was in her nature, and though she was not a particularly good mother, she was good enough to try and give her genetics a chance at survival.