The craving for frogs was gone. She had not wanted them for the last week and a half now, waking to find that even the most menial of meal had finally sated her appetite. It was strange and she had begun to worry that something was not right, yet she often felt the twisting and turning of the pups within her massive figure. Massive was an understatement, really, for she had grown all over. Broad belly, thicker hips, thighs and shoulders. Even her neck seemed to have doubled. A bear, she thought with a flash of teeth, and she was looking rather worse for wear as the spring heat left her fur in clumping groups. In spots that she had rubbed off she could almost see her skin beneath, her body having stretched too much, and she growled in contempt at the mangy look she had achieved. Aithne was not one to care for appearances but this was too much. They needed to hurry up and come out so she could get to running the border once more and the spring could take the weight from her.

When it happens it is a sudden squeezing of her pelvic area, an abrupt yelp of surprise and discontent echoing into the air as she stops in mid stride in the meadow near her den. She lies there, right in the moorland grass, and begins to pant. Then growl. It is slow going and she could easily make it to the den but she feels.. restless. So she stands and she begins to move in a slow circle, her movements jerky as she walks, freezes, walks, freezes, with each contraction. They begin to grow in number and frequency. At first there is little pain, merely an odd sensation as her body tries to repel something it doesn't want anymore.

She realizes, suddenly, that Praetor should be there. That she shouldn't leave him out of this momentous occasion, and so she lifts her muzzle and lets loose an urgent howl that cuts off abruptly as another contraction hits. A breathless snarl and then she crouches before finally lying on her belly. This is not the proper way to birth pups, she thinks, and begrudgingly rolls to her side. What are you doing, get to your den, she berates herself, not wishing for her members to see her giving birth - how invasive that feels - and yet she feels as if she will suffocate if she goes there so she turns her eyes up to the clear blue sky and pushes.

It goes one for seemingly forever and her ears flick when Praetor arrives, her body relaxing only slightly before tensing once more. "They're coming," she grunts to him, as if it isn't painfully obvious. "I'm staying here." Those words are a growl, stopping him before he can even try to suggest it to her. "They are taking so long!" She grumbles this even as her breath leaves her and her body rolls into a contraction that is unlike the ones she felt before, as if her belly has caught on the obstruction and moves to push it from behind. A whine suddenly escapes as she feels her insides stretching and something moving out. Paws scramble at the ground as she rolls up, panicking, even as the first child appears and falls to the ground.

Aithne hangs her head, panting, before glancing at the child. She is a hefty thing for a puppy, squealing almost immediately and Aithne's instincts kick in. She steps forward, leaning down to sniff the pup who is now covered with birthing fluid as well as pieces of grass. It is instinct that drives Aithne to begin licking her, her large tongue engulfing the girl. "Aster." It is gruff and it is surprising, even to her, that she had come up with a name for the girl so quick. A painful sqeeuze of her hips has her spinning back around in a circle, crouching once more as her insides expel another and she grunts. It is almost painless or she is numb, she thinks, and she turns an eye around to see another pup, much much smaller than the other. "What is wrong with him?" Her ears prick and she stares in alarm at the boy, sniffing him and nudging him almost roughly with her nose until he makes a noise to assure her that he is alive. "Why is he so small, Praetor?" She turns her head towards her mate now, her words an offering for him to come closer for she knows, suddenly, that her womb is empty and it is done. He would name the boy, she thinks, since she named the girl.

Eight - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne