She can see the sleepiness that clings to him as she enters the den, the way his head drags low, and feels a bit of guilt at having wakened him from the precipice of slumber. Praetor assured her that with rest and proper food he would grow just fine. It seemed to be working but she still worries, not that she would ever share that worry with any but her mate. Her children were a thing of pride. It surprised her just how much she felt for them, the protective way she watched them, growing angry when others came too close. In the land she had been born into raising pups was the harshest task of all. Little food, little water, and even less security. Death was a constant. It nagged her, a worry that all the good fortune she had cultivated here would come to a head at the expense of her progeny. So she watched them and she protected them from the shadows.

His voice snags her attention fully, ears pricking as her eyes squint in worry. An odd scent clings to his breath and did his ears feel warm to her nose? The way he moves is a struggle and she feels a niggle of doubt, wondering if she should call for Praetor or even Halcyon. He knew a little about healing, that was part of his training anyways. Lazarus was striking, she thought, and there was a soft air about him that would soften anyone. She presses her nose into his forehead, rubbing her chin there in a comforting manner but jerking away as he begins to twitch.

With wide eyes she watches as his body seems to cave inward then expand. He steps towards me and then heaves. Vomit falls everywhere, stopping at the tip of her white paw, and horror dawns on her face. The smell hits first and she gulps, feeling her own belly dip in a queasy manner. In truth she wants to flee this den and scream for her mate to come but she is worried about Lazarus, stricken with fear. What if he was poisoned? What if he DIED? "Lazarus," she says in a sort of panicked voice, hearing his plaintive cry for her, and he heaves again. She moves to the side to avoid the disgusting refuse, squeezing her eyes shut. It was, in truth, the most disgusting thing ever. She had never suffered from illness, her body having been hardened since birth, and she thinks that this proves that Lazarus was not growing as well as he should. Had Praetor ever suffered from such illness?

She shuffles around and presses a paw gently to his side so that he can lean on her, pointedly trying to avoid looking at the vomit on the dirt floor. When he falls down she reaches down, jaws parting to grasp him around his scruff and drag him away from his mess. The taste touches her tongue and she gags herself. "It will be okay," she says gruffly, ears falling back at his cries of pain. "I-I will call your father, we will make you feel better." I howl suddenly, the sound echoing in the den but I am unwilling to go to the entrance for fear that Lazarus won't make it if I step even a moment away from him. I lower my body so that he pressed against my chest, my fear causing my heart to thump hard in my chest. "Is it just your belly?" I wrinkle my nose, not willing yet to clean him and trying to decide if I should carry him out to the shore of the water and clean him off or do it the old fashioned way.

Nine - Empress of Iromar - fated for Praetor

aithne