havens of solitude at high altitude

"Hmmm, perhaps some motherwort, and a decent fawn would help you to feel better.... But perhaps I should elaborate more." Samael seemed in good spirits about all of this. Was her misery really all that amusing? She frowned at him a little. Yes, a fawn would be delicious, but it was autumn. In the mountains. Where was anyone supposed to find one? "let me guess. Bloating. Sickness when you eat. A want to bed down in a den and stay near it. And finally a feeling of butterflies in your belly for no reason." He continued to speak, and she felt dread pull her stomach into her paws. Then, it was whisked away by her frown tightening.

"Ha ha." Her laughter was stern, unamused. "I have reached my seventh year, Mr. Morningstar. You were there for my last heat season, and nothing resulted from that coupling. It is impossible that I am pregnant now." Right? It had to be. Everything matched up, sure. She was practically an old maid now, there was no way she was carrying his offspring. Her uterus had probably dried up, shrivelled into nothing.

"Besides, I am in no position to be having children. There are no shamans here, or holy places nearby. There are ceremonies that need to be performed, and no one to perform them." There it was, the dread in her guts again. Or was it the kicking of feeble, undeveloped paws? Gods above, she was putting tiny lives in jeopardy now. This was not how she had wanted her life to go. Not at all. Mercury gaze would drift to her charcoal paws, sides heaving with breaths that she couldn't stop.