All the magic and fire of winter had centralized itself, a swirling mass within her very centre that she had come to understand was, indeed, children. The change had been gradual and though she had expected it, it had still caught her somewhat off guard when she had felt a kick from somewhere within. She had spent some weeks outside of Iromar in anticipation of it, though in truth it was because she had plenty to do before she could properly welcome these children into the outside world. She had stayed with Wraith for some time and when his time had come and passed, she had again waited by his burial mound; like a guardian, she had kept it safe from scavenger and curious bystander alike, chasing away fox or curious hare without discrimination. She had called for Onias here and there but mostly she had bided her time until she had been able to take the long bones from the mound and a large, mostly-undamaged region of fur from what had once been her winter-mate. The rest - his skull, his spine, and many other bones - had been buried deep and true within the depths of the crags, given back to the earth. Those she had acquired had gone with her back to Iromar, a place he had been adamant not to return to until she had chased - or rather, taken - his ghosts away from him. With them gone, he had given her permission to take him back with her.
And so she had returned to Iromar in the cover of early spring's darkness; she had found her way through marsh and reed until she had returned to her den, a messy thing between stone and dirt several yards from the boneyard. She had dug it out to its correct size and then, she had placed Wraith within its walls where he might be able to watch their progeny grow. Her return had been quiet, just as her departure had been, but soon enough her condition had become loud.
She had been restless for some time but the restlessness that came with children was not one that could easily be walked out. She had taken, nonetheless, to venturing far and wide through the moors, collecting stone, bone and feather alike and burying whatever else she thought she might have use for later. At times, she'd pause for several minutes, folded in such a way that she could hope to listen to the voices that lived within her; they spoke a wild language that she could not understand, though she was not surprised. Onias had been correct, after all, that they would all be something different and new. It was during one of her 'listening sessions' that she had inadvertently encountered Avery; at the time Beltane had entered the area, Avery had been deep within her den and Beltane had paused among the reeds, folded in that way, listening to everything - caught off guard by the sudden sigh of another only some yards away. And so she unfolded fast with a sharp inhale, eyes owl-wide and searching before they landed on Avery with a sudden jerk of her head - tilted, curious, her eyes reaching out to find that familiar swollen abdomen that they shared. Beltane sniffed, an ah! of fascination before she suddenly began forward to reveal herself completely, head lowered and ever observant of her leader's sides.