Here it is, and I am forced into more of that familiar misery that haunts my every waking step. This time, much as it had been at the beginning of winter, it came with physical pain. In the middle of the night, I am awoken by a sharp pressure in my abdomen. Staring with mismatched eyes at my stomach as I wonder just what I eaten to make my stomach hurt this way. It dawns on me that it has been long enough to bring the lives I held within me to life. Fear crept into my heart, doubts and worries over whether I would be a good mother or if they would be like me more than him sneaked into my soul. All while pain lashed at my back and sides in a way that reminded me of my time in the thorn thicket.

I cried out from my mountain peak home, hoping someone heard me as I did not wish to be alone in these moments. I did not want to be a single mother. I have never wanted this utter isolation that has become all I know and live. What I had imagined for myself and my children was a mate, or imprint. Stability to be brought to my ever chaotic life would be a wonderful thing, but in my eighth year I have all but given up on love or the perfect soul mate. I could not abide the broken heart, nor could I handle the shattered hopes of giving my virginity to my mate. Such a thing had been taken from me, and I would not be whole for the wolf I wanted to give all of myself to.

Thoughts fly through my mind as I try to distract myself from it all, that is until I feel something release and leak out around my hind end. Midnight ears lace back against my skull as instinct takes over. Waiting until my body feels ready, I begin the arduous task of pushing my first born out into the world. I have to wonder if this is what my mother felt like when she gave birth to myself. I am passed thought, rational or otherwise, not truly capable of such a higher way of thinking at the moment. All I can do is pant, push, pant, rest, push. "Come on, Kiyomi, you can do this." I say to myself, something of a mantra forming out of the words. Hours go by, marked by the notable travel of the full moon across the entrance of my den.

My efforts are rewarded with a small, dark baby girl, I break the sac, and behold my first born. Her fur is multi-colored, with hints of her father in her, and I recoil in revulsion. I do not wish to clean her, I do not want to hold her or nurse her. She looks too much like him, like the rapist. I bare my fangs for the first time at a pup I birthed, her helpless body still and barely moving in the remnants of her birthing sac. Soon after, another rough pain hits my fragile frame. My face already a mask of distress, pain, and revulsion, I force myself to push with the second rush of fluid from my hind end. Growling in frustration, I watch the sky begin to lighten outside as my daughter crawls toward me. On shaky legs, I stand and move to the opposite side of my den, denying this future criminal the chance to nurse from one as innocent as I had been.

More hours pass by, but still there is nothing for my efforts of pushing. My muscles are fatigued, my breathing shallow, and my hind end is painfully stretched with the sidelong breach pup stuck within my body. With one last final show of strength, I lean up and rip myself so I can be rid of the leach sucking the life from my frame, a bitter hatred coming on as I stare at the gore and mess of birthing the rapist's children. The little male is forcefully expelled from my body though the motion hurts beyond belief.

It is then that I take the sac from his face, before catching myself in what I am doing. I did not ask for these products of rape to remind me of what happened every time I looked at them. I wanted nothing to do with wolves who could bring harm into this world, but something of a rational thought takes over as I look at them.

Despite their origins, they never asked for this to happen to them either. Understanding takes over my exhausted mind, and I surrender to the earlier maternal instincts that I had previously denied. With small whimpers and a grunt of pain, I rise to wobbly paws and make my way to the daughter who crawls toward the heights of Spirane as if she has understood what I wanted of her to begin with. "No, little blossom, this is not what either of us want." Tired, doll-like tones escape on a broken breath as my pitch-colored mouth opens to curl gently around her tiny form. She gives a shriek of surprise and lurches into my mouth, her still wet form nearly making me gag as I taste the birthing liquid of her pelt.

Laying her next to her brother, I allow myself to rest upon darkened sides, the likes of which still heave from exhaustion and exertion. Shutting my mismatched pitch and glacier eyes, I fall asleep, the now clean pups searching in my midnight fur for the life giving teats they require. I am exhausted and bleeding, but there is nothing more I can do than rest and pray to heaven that they don't turn into the malicious predator that their father is.