When one got to her age, it became clear when something changed. Cersei had grown adept at predicting winter's arrival based on her own fur; a warm summer could be guessed by an early shedding; an incoming illness by dry eyes or a certain muscle pain. So, it was all too obvious that a great change had befallen her a short while after she and Sinclair had once again enjoyed their winter together. She had first noticed it when her stomach had growled more fiercely before and yet, her instincts had driven her to bury some rather fine pieces of meat. Why would she do that? Prey had not been scarce enough to make them starved and yet, there she was burying food! She had even been tempted to scratch out a deeper den, only able to resist the urge by taking a lap around the woods and wearing herself out. It was only after some weeks of this that she began to remember her mother before Praetor and the others had been born. Though quiet as Caligula had been, she had always made it clear to their father when a certain change had taken place...

Cersei had awoken in a bit of a sweat when the realization dawned her. In the dim light of the morning, she looked down at the cinnamon of her abdomen, a combination of suspicion and disbelief. After so long, had they managed? It made sense to her so suddenly she could have sworn the realization physically hit her - the lingering agitation, the hunger, the instincts. She almost felt a little slow for not having even considered the idea beforehand. That suspicion quickly turned to a small smile as she watched her own sides rise and fall, suddenly curious as to what kind of lives rested within her. Ah, but instincts were strong and suddenly that joy bloomed into worry. With furrowed brows, she scrambled from the den, rising tall and stretching before she surveyed the area with a suddenly critical eye.

They'd made their home, or at least one of them, in the forest come winter. The canopy was thin, and knew it'd take some time for it to fill in entirely come spring. Until then, hawks and those alike would have no problem entering the forest and snatching creatures from the floor. Trees had fallen seasons prior, now fox-dens, and she could still smell their foxy musk in the air. They'd grow hungry come spring too, their own kits to feed. And what of the bears? All of Moladion knew there were at least several in the inner folds of the territories, asleep in the winter but dangerous come spring and fall. Had they checked for bears in the seasons prior? She could not remember. What if one rested nearby, too well concealed for the time being to be sniffed out? No, the forests could not do. The forests were not suitable! She huffed, half-way between a growl of frustration and a sigh of resignation. What kind of instincts were these?!

"Sin! Sinclair!" She called for him, a distinct effort to keep her voice panic-free and yet she knew she could certainly not conceal the worry entirely. "Come here! I think we have something we need to discuss - and quickly!" And so she waited as patiently as one could while their mind raced ahead into unknown territory.