Night comes upon the shrine and, upon feeling an uncomfortable, familiar squeezing in her abdomen, Leera slips away through the trees to retreat to her tangle of thickets. It will serve well as a birthing den, warm and dark and safe, and as she disappears into the small refuge of it she realizes this will be the first place the children will see. Good, she thinks, curling into the furthest recess and lying down on her side. They will know security, warmth, milk... It is all a child needs at the start of his life.
Hours pass. Leera does not call out to signal the beginning of her labor but instead endures the blossoming pain in solitude -- she's always been rather private when it comes to these things. She also does not wish to let anyone see her in this vulnerable state. After all, and in the end, it is only her and her offspring. She does not need the peering eyes like others might. When the night is half over, the labor pains are at their greatest. Wrapped in a thick silence, Leera is the only creature making noise: panting, writhing, getting up to nose leaves around to make a soft bedding and then lying down again. It's a tedious process, but this is far from Leera's first birth so it comes like a familiarity, like a long lost friend.
When the pups do arrive, they come into the darkness of the den with a push. One after another, they fill the small thicket, all five of them, three sons and two daughters. When the hard part is over and the pain begins to subside, Leera inspects them gingerly and licks away the blood. Already, most of the pups have begun to suckle her teats and she noses the weaker ones until they, too, are able to taste her milk.
She lets herself have time alone with them, savoring every moment before they meet the others. They are hers, entirely, and she is theirs. It is a bond unlike any other, a bond she'll give her life for. But, when enough time has passed and she knows she has no choice but to call the others -- Nephthys the only one she truly desires the company of. Of course, the High Lord will want to see his production. His legacy. And, my, they are beautiful. "Do not trust any of these faces, my loves," she cooes, voice still weak and ragged from exhaustion. Although she knows they cannot understand her, she finds solace in speaking to them.
Looking away from them for the first time, Leera howls for all of Erövrare to hear: the king's children were finally here.
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