Log Date: 1/4/99 Log Cast: Rillwhisper, Trollkiller, Woodhawk, Talek, a Presence in Rill's Den Log Intro: [Note: Although this log would technically take place during the spring based on the RL date, the RP herein is timewarped to the previous fall as the roleplay of Wayfound's birth was delayed. Also, the RP was never really finished per se, but it got to a good enough breaking point.] ---------- Chieftess's Den(#124RAJL) This oft-crowded den seems spacious enough to perhaps hold five or six elves easily. Many pillows and furs of shades of brown, white, grey, gold, and black are scattered about its floor, some on the large pile of sleepfurs beneath a small window-hole looking out towards Sun-Goes-Down. Here and there along the walls are shaped small candle-nooks, in the shapes of leafy nests; the candles they hold are unlit at the moment, and the occasional beam of sunshine flickers in through the willow fronds outside. Along one wall, a shelf-like ledge is set into the living wood of the tree. You see 3 elves asleep here, and 2 awake. Two crawl-holes are visible here: one leading back out into the heart of the great tree, and one leading off sideways to the guest den frequently used by Rillwhisper, Woodhawk, and Trollkiller. Contents: Trollkiller(#3442PVc$g) Woodhawk Comfortable fur Obvious exits: Guest Den Out At high noon on a bright fall day, the sunshine creeps in around the edges of the skins that shield the opening of the Chieftess's willow-trunk den. A crisp breeze flaps the skins open for a moment, briefly illuminating her pale skin and golden hair, and glancing off the auburn and silver of her drowsing lifemates. Trollkiller halfway opens one eye at the bright. Even for him, it's _way_ to early to get up. Even just to lay about on the branch. He closes it again. Woodhawk shivers slightly in his sleep, and cuddles down deeper into the furs. It's not her first birthing, but it might as well be, with No-fur's coming more eights of turns of the seasons into the past now than Rillwhisper Wolfbringer generally likes to count. With her belly swollen with the babe within, her solicitous lifemates have convinced her to keep close to the den -- but this has meant for the restless chieftess that she's had little to do except rest and sleep and eat, and in between pine for something to occupy her hands. She's mended all the leathers she and Woodhawk own, has played her old flute till her fingers ache, and during this particular trek of the Daystar, has finally drowsed off again. But not for long. She jerks awake in the middle of a wolf-nap when a sharp spike of sensation from her womb fires off. Trollkiller feels _something_ happen, and starts a bit in sympathetic response. ** uh... um? ** And he looks up a bit, blinking. ** ? ** Woodhawk, lying with one arm across Wolfbringer's swollen belly, feels a ripple as a contraction moves through her body. Still holding his lifemate, he is suddenly and entirely awake. The chieftess's green eyes have snapped open, and she sends a bit startledly, ** Another tremor... woke me up. Think it woke up the babe, too...** She tries to shift, finding her position in the furs awkward with the weight of her gravid stomach, and frowns down at herself. Trollkiller ums, blinks a few times, and wakes up the rest of the way. He reaches out with hand and mind to Wolfbringer, offering steadying. Woodhawk brings his other arm around to support Wolfbringer, helping guide her up. Woodhawk sends, ** feels like the little one's lying a bit lower in there today.... ** ** She's slipped, ** is the Wolfbringer's observation, her nose crinkling in concentration. The she-elf pauses... waits for a span of several breaths... and jolts again. Not trusing her voice now, she keeps to sending and adds, eyes widening, ** And slipping again. ** Trollkiller nods first, then blinks a bit. ** That's quick. She must be ready... and in quite the hurry, too, isn't she... ** Woodhawk grins, a bit wildly. ** excellent! come on, wolfbringer, bring us a wolfrider this time ** ** Help me move, ** the chieftess requests, reaching a hand for each of her mates, pulling herself up into as much of a sitting position as she can manage, trying to get into a squat on the furs. The effort is a bit much; a bit of sweat beads her pale brow. Trollkiller looks at Woodhawk. ** She brought a Wolfrider _last_ time too... what do you expect, a treewee? ** Woodhawk obligingly helps pull Rillwhisper onto her feet, and sends to Trollkiller, ** she did not. it was a whole pack of wolves, and if she's got *that* tucked away in there, then we're in for a really long labor. ** Trollkiller pulls Wolfbringer up, helping her get into a good birthing position - then pads around behind her, and helps hold her up from behind. A sharp gasp escapes Rill, and she manages a breathless chuckle afterwards. ** She's... definitely... awake. ** Another contraction seizes her. Trollkiller sends, ** Is this good? I didn't need to do it for you before, No-fur came too quickly - and Dusk was such a small cub that it wasn't this much effort... ** He looks over at Woodhawk. ** She's big enough in the belly that she just _might_ have a couple of wolfcubs in there too. ** Trollkiller gasps as the unborn cub... sends, sort of, and sends ** << time now >> << birthing >> << parents await outside >> ** comforts at her. Woodhawk brings the gourd of water from its niche in the den's wall, and offers it to his panting lifemate. ** okay, maybe a little wolfrider and a little wolf-friend for her too. if not, we'll just have to encourage our chief-wolves out here to catch up.... ** Woodhawk's grin broadens as he senses the cub's mind reaching out. ** come on out, little one, your den, your fathers, your pack are waiting for you ** Bringing her own wolf-friend with her? Well, if the cubling's taking after the dam, it'd make sense, wouldn't it? Rillwhisper grins a crooked grin, and shoots Woodhawk a grateful look as she cranes her head forward to lap up the water in the gourd. Halfway through, she pauses to gasp again, grabbing hard for the supportive arms nearby, and a surge of water of another kind comes splashing down from between her thighs, soaking the furs beneath her. Trollkiller sends openly ** Well, that's done it - no delaying anything now... ** From somewhere within that rounded belly comes the faintest of sendings, an unformed mental contact, flavored with distress. Trollkiller giggles, and realises he's mostly serving as a big mound of furry chair, and then decides that's as good as anything under the circumstances... he pets Rill's forehead, patting at sweat. ** Doing okay? ** Woodhawk holds Wolfbringer as the contractions bring her water out, then squints at the wet furs. ** that's good, not too much blood, plenty of water. shouldn't be too much longer, now. want your belly rubbed? ** Woodhawk begins to massage Rillwhisper's abdomen and her swollen genitals with the bearfat, as they have done every day for the past few eights.... ** Aye, 'Hawk, ** comes Rill's gruffly sent reply, and a wave of relief as he commences his rubbing. She slits open her eyes for a moment, glancing ruefully down at the soaked furs, and has enough time to get in a few deep breaths before the next contraction hits her. there is another trickle of sending that is decidedly not the chieftess's, and as it uncurls from somewhere within her, Rill glances up again, her eyes beginning to go distant. Woodhawk follows his lifemate's glance and sends amusedly, ** the hunting's been excellent; there'll be plenty of new furs this year.... ** Woodhawk sends, gently but excitedly, to the new mind he feels -- ** <> ** Trollkiller giggles. ** S'true. No shortage of furs this time around. ** He nods forward and nuzzles the back of Rillwhisper's head. And he reaches out with his mind to Rillwhisper, to help her in any way she needs... ** << any pain, I can share. Any strength, I can lend... >> ** Jolt. Jolt. The tremors of her belly give the chieftess barely enough respite between them to catch her breath and brace herself for the next. Her hands tighten their grip on each of her lifemates, as she strives to ride through the waves of pain and let herself do what needs to be done to let the infant come. In sending, too, she clasps her mates, her mental touch firm but now distracted; the air grows heavy with the weight of her sending, and the cub's increasingly frantic presence lays down a descant over the top of her mother's thoughts. Woodhawk bends forward; reaches one bearfat-slippery hand up between Wolfbringer's legs, trying to find if the cub's head is breaking into the world yet. Rillwhisper sends to the whole tribe ** ** You sense in a locksend, Talek's reply comes slowly, blurred with the sense of . ** What...? ** Trollkiller peers around at Woodhawk. Didn't do _that_ before... Woodhawk's gently probing fingers make definite contact with the warm, wet crown of an elf-cub's head, and the tiny, delicate point of one ear. ** she's coming! ** Something is coming through, most assuredly. The tender, swollen skin between Rillwhisper's thighs, though, looks a trifle lopsided. With each contraction that seizes the mother, the wet swelling increases its size, and aye, the firestarter's fingers can find the baby's skull beginning to break through into the open air. Woodhawk looks over Wolfbringer's head at his male lifemate. ** I saw Sweetleaf do it at Rill's own birthing. I never forgot.... ** Trollkiller smiles broadly, nuzzling Rillwhisper's ear. He has her weight in his arms, entirely. You locksend ** ** to Talek. Woodhawk crouches down between Rill's legs, one hand underneath to catch the cub, the other arm around her waist for additional support, his mind sending love and support to both.... You sense in a locksend, Talek fights past the blur of sleepiness to frown in consideration, his presence growing faintly stronger as he moves from his perch into the Old Willow. His 'presence' tingles briefly, as if trying to discern the problem, then withdraws again in concern, wonderingly. Rillwhisper's face as well as the rest of her sheens over entirely in sweat; her cheeks flush pink with her exertion, and after a few more increasingly rapid jolts of her belly, the baby's pale crown of a skull breaks free from within her. One eartip shows itself; aye, it looks like the little one is a bit skewed in her descent. Rillwhisper sends to the whole tribe ** ** Trollkiller giggles. ** It's ok, it's ok... or it'll _be_ okay... ** Woodhawk gulps, gets a bit more bearfat, and proceeds with a mostly complete appearance of confidence to straighten the cubling's head in her mother's birth canal. ** Peace, cubling, peace, ** comes Rillwhsiper's barely palpable sending, clearly mostly directed to the babe, though leaking through to the anxious pair of elves supporting her and awaiting the cubling's emergence. Jolt... breathe... jolt... and a miniature brow slips free when Woodhawk's fat-coated fingers deftly slide the tiny head into a more comfortable angle. Trollkiller's arms get awfully tired after a while, but isn't about to let go _now_. He sends coaxing welcome to the cub, partially because he wants to meet her, but partially because his arms are starting to _kill_ him. :) The head, however tiny, was still the largest part. With the next ripple of contractions, the cub slides out as far as one shoulder; Woodhawk guides that around to a more comfortable angle as well. Wetly glistening, the miniscule face is now in view, and there comes a tiny *cffcff* of a sound amidst the damp sliding noises that are accompanying the cubling's coming. Tiny eyes are screwed up shut; a tiny mouth works fretfully at the air, moisture starting to dribble out from the wee mouth as the infant's lungs start wrestling to clear themselves. All throughout, Rillwhisper pants for air herself, her own eyes clamping shut, hard. Woodhawk looks up into Wolfbringer's eyes, his face alight with encouragement, amazement, and adoration. He half-sends, half-whispers, <> Woodhawk holds the little cub; she is just the size of his two cupped hands. Reverently, he lifts her up to her mother. Trollkiller shivvers, peering over Rillwhisper's shoulder, panting somewhat in sympathy, staring at the cubling. Around the three lifemates, the air grows ever so slightly thicker, tinged with a sending not born of either mother or daughter. There's a faint presence, a touch of a strong, clear _presence_ of some kind, rich and golden and resonant; the presence flares brightly as the baby drops, shoulders, belly, and finally legs all, into her elder father's waiting hands. And finally, Rill looks weakly up, a tired smile curling her mouth... but a vivid shine coming into her eyes. Woodhawk sends to Trollkiller, ** let her lie down -- your arms are shaking -- ** Trollkiller gasps! and almost drops Rill - but doesn't. And lowers her down, _very_ gently. He's actually managed to be distracted, at least briefly - and he tries to touch the presense, a careful, sending touch... Woodhawk's eyes open wide at the golden touch on his mind, and he welcomes it, even as he welcomes the new life in his hands. It's faint, but it's there, a sense that speaks fleetingly of a pair of golden eyes, an unfettered soul, a broad prideful grin at the tiny life in Woodhawk's hands... and never mind that there's no one else visible in the den. Rillwhisper gives a tiny gasp -- it's obvious she feels it too -- but the birthing isn't quite yet done. Her body jolts again, once, twice, thrice. The baby wriggles in the firestarter's palms, sucks in her first real breath, and starts to squall while the afterbirth drops wetly out in her wake. Woodhawk licks the baby's face clean of blood and mucus. ** ah, and there's the afterbirth -- no wolfcubs this time! ** Woodhawk cradles the little cub in one arm, scoops up the afterbirth from the furs, and offers them both to the exhausted-looking mother. [Log stops here as all three players had to go.]