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The sound of Dalmatia’s voice pulled her from the fog of half-sleep. Her ears twitched first, then her eyes opened — one pale and one dark, and both rimmed in red from nights that hadn’t really been restful. For a moment she didn’t speak, just blinked through the haze and the ache that still lingered deep in her bones.

Her body didn’t feel like her own anymore. The soft slope of her belly was still swollen from the birth, stretched and tender to the touch even though it was empty now. Every movement made her feel the hollowness of it— the way her body still thought it was full, still expecting to cradle life that wasn’t there. It was a cruel trick of nature, she thought. The womb ached from memory, as if it hadn’t yet realized it had failed it's one purpose in life.

She shifted slowly, careful not to wake Reid. Her broken leg protested the motion with a sharp, biting throb that made her jaw tighten and her breath catch. It was a deep ache, one that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, the kind of pain that crawled all the way into the marrow. Sometimes it felt like the bone itself was still screaming from when it snapped.

The effort of sitting upright made her realize how heavy she’d grown. Before, her body had moved like something built for grace— light and balanced with dancer’s muscle beneath her fur. Now it all felt… different. Softer in places, heavier in others. Her ribs still showed when she turned, but her hips had filled out, and her chest was full and sore with milk. The scent of it clung to her fur, sweet and animal and maternal all at once. She felt older. Earthier. Not the same creature who’d danced through the woods and called herself free.

Yeah… I’m Svajonė, she said finally, her voice low and rough from sleep. And this here’s Reid.

She glanced down, her gaze softening immediately. The little boy was tucked tight against her belly, all pale fur and quiet breaths. His tiny paw flexed once against her stomach, and she felt that old ache stir again— grief and love tangled together in her chest. He’s beautiful, she murmured, a weak smile tugging at her muzzle. But I’m his mother. I’d say that no matter what.

When Dalmatia set the herbs down, Svajonė’s eyes lingered on them. The smell of chamomile and lavender made her exhale, the faintest flicker of peace settling in her chest. You brought all this for us? she asked, blinking tiredly. That’s… really kind. Chamomile, lavender, raspberry leaves— you even remembered the old midwives’ tricks. She gave a soft huff of laughter, half disbelief, half gratitude. I haven’t had the strength to gather anything yet. Figured I’d better stay put before I make things worse.

Her gaze dropped when Dalmatia looked at her leg. She pulled it a little closer under her body, instictively wishing to hide a weakness that could get her killed in the wild. The skin around it was taut and angry-looking, the swelling stubborn despite the days that had passed. It’s still bad, she admitted. Vidarr’s been doing his best to keep it straight. Used reeds, driftwood, mud and honey for binding. It hurts like hell, but it’s held so far.

She glanced toward him then, eyes softening. He’s better at pretending he knows what he’s doing than most are. I wouldn’t have made it back here without him.

Her voice went quiet, almost reverent as she said it. There was a small, fleeting smile before she looked back to Dalmatia. If you can help me rewrap it, I’d be grateful. The pain’s dulled, but it’s… still deep. I don’t want it to set wrong. She hesitated, then added, Not when he still needs me.

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