I'm Not Perfect, but I Keep Trying

She had not seen him, as his dark back blending in with the rest of the cave. But she heard him shuffle, turning to expose his lighter belly as his voice tumbled for her. Letting out a sob she raced to him, basically flopped over as she arched her back into his stomach. Othello wiggled her head between his forelegs, purple eyes squeezing shut as more tears spilled. She was sure that Scorpion was able to smell the birth on her fur, but he didn't mention it at all -- a fact that she was thankful for. She didn't want to talk about the three new perfect lives that entered the world, the sadness too heavy to even speak about it. "I've missed you," she whined, nipping at his forelegs. Her ears were flat against her skull, but she didn't want to talk about why she was crying either. She just wanted to forget it all, to be here with Scorpion. He was here for her no matter what, and she had been foolish to keep herself away from him. But Isolde had needed her, and she couldn't deny her affection for the spotted woman. Her little fawn. She was a mother now, and Othello was... what? What even was she any more?