Oh, she was very pregnant. Any day now she would be squirming on the floor of the den, flinging herself around and screaming like a pup. But it didn't seem there were as many pups inside her. In fact, it only felt like one or two. Maybe three, at the most. It was just the motherly sense inside of her...she knew it was no more than three. She's been singing and talking to them over and over, whispering little things after quiet naps in the den. Even more than she did to her five current children when they were unborn. She'd tell them stories, start talking in Italian and secretly teaching them basic words. It was silly, but she loved them so dearly already.
But she was very fat, and she felt very...full. She was often dealing with the pain of their kicks and squirms, however many their were. Today it was rather peaceful, though. And she smelt someone familiar nearby. It wasn't Bass, no. It wasn't any of her children. It was...Lillianna. At first, she recoiled at the smell, the instant thought of Mirabelle striking her like a blow. But she remembered all the things the young girl has been going through. Being looked down at, thought of as reckless, her jaw...it was bad. And Wren couldn't help but feel sorry for her, even when she was moody and hormones were plaguing her like a sickness.
Wren made her way through the tall grass, following the echoes of her howl. She tipped her head back and returned the howl, before walking along, her steps unsteady and clumsy. Once she got there, she stared at the mini Mirabelle, frowning. She didn't look good. However she did not talk. The heavily pregnant woman just stood up beside the scarred girl and sat next to her, gazing down into the water.
