Bonechewer walked ahead of Ratha, keeping his pace slow. The long scar on his flank was only starting to fade. Clan fangs had driven deep, and he would limp for the rest of his life. Ratha followed his waving tail through the grass, feeling the new life moving inside her. She was so big now that even the low grass tips brushed her underneath and her graceful walk had become awkward, her swollen belly swinging from side to side at each step.
As she and Bonechewer left the hills and came onto the plain, tiny flowers appeared among the grasses, sending their scents up into the warm spring wind.
Ratha lifted her head and watched a bird drift in lazy circles overhead. The grief was still there in the back of her throat and the memories in the back of her mind. The clan was no more, broken and scattered by the attack of the Un-Named. She, and perhaps some other ragged band of survivors, were all that was left of those who had once followed the herder’s way. Many others had left their blood where the three-horns and dapplebacks had once grazed. The Un-Named, too, had paid. Ratha remembered how the vultures circled and the picked bones grew gray and moldy.
The sun warmed her back, reminding her that those times were past. The unborn cubs moved again, and she felt little kicks inside, as if the young ones were impatient to be born.
Bonechewer stopped and came back, “Are you tired?” he asked.
“No, hungry.”
Bonechewer grunted. “Those cubs eat more than you do. They’ll be strong and healthy.”
“I can hunt for a few more days,” Ratha said, as Bonechewer took the weight off his injured leg.
“Hunt? You can’t even crouch,” he said, but his tone was gentle rather than mocking. “No, even with my bad leg the marsh-shrews will know me. You may get sick of marsh-shrews, but I swear there will be plenty of them.”
“I will eat marsh-shrews,” Ratha said as he nuzzled her bulging flank.
“Yarrr!” Bonechewer shook his head and winced. “He kicked me! Hard enough to make my nose sting. Is that any way to treat your lair-father?” He glared at Ratha’s belly in mock anger.
“She kicked you.” Ratha grinned. “That one’s going to be a female.”
“I’m glad they’re not inside me,” Bonechewer said vehemently.
“They’ll be out soon.” Ratha began walking.
“How soon?” Bonechewer looked alarmed.
“I don’t know. They’ll tell me. Come on, Three-Legs,” she said, strutting ahead. “We still have a long way to go.”
They saw several more sunsets before they reached the marsh where Bonechewer’s territory lay. He was glad to be home, and he trotted all over it, from the lakeshore to the hillside meadow where the spring ran. Ratha tagged after him, eager for the tang of the marshland and the glitter of the morning sun on the lake. She even followed him into the water when he plunged in to wash dust from his coat. She bobbed and rolled like a sap-heavy log while Bonechewer chased fish. By sheer exuberance rather than skill, he managed to catch one. He swam back to her, holding his shiny prize aloft in his jaws. They paddled their way back to shore and feasted on the catch.
The next task was to dig a new den for the cubs. Ratha chose a site on the hillside near the spring where dirt was soft and the digging went fast. They took turns at hunting and digging and soon the excavation was finished. Ratha inspected it, cleared out the remaining loose dirt, stamped down the rest and began to line the den with dry grass, pine needles and tufts of her own fur pulled from her belly. Bonechewer helped her, trying to find the softest leaves and the most fragrant grasses with which to make the nest.
They were making their last trip with grass in their mouths when Ratha felt a sharp cramp begin high in her belly and ripple down both sides of her flank. She had felt such pangs before, but they were mild and soon ceased. This time it grew until it became painful. She moaned and dropped her mouthful of grass.
Bonechewer waited with her until the spasm had passed. Ratha leaned against him, feeling his strength and his warmth. The pain frightened her and she was grateful for his presence. Once the cramp ceased, she was able to walk on. Before they reached the den, it happened again and the contraction was stronger. Ratha felt something break deep inside and a gush of fluid which wet the fur beneath her tail.
“They’re telling me,” she gasped, her head low.
She felt Bonechewer seize her nape and pull her up. She staggered with him to the den. He pushed her inside, settled her on her bed and stood back, looking anxiously at her.
Ratha ground her teeth together as the next spasm seized her. She thrust back with her hind legs and pushed against the wall of the den. Again the pain went away, leaving her panting and shivering. She looked for Bonechewer, but he had gone.
Panic washed through Ratha as she shifted restlessly from side to side. The nest, so carefully dug and lined, seemed terribly uncomfortable, and the dark, rather than being cozy, made her feel as though she were suffocating.
I didn’t know it would be like this, she thought, laying her head on the earthen floor and feeling the frantic pulse in her throat. I thought mothers just went to sleep for a while, and when they woke, the cubs were there.
The teats on her belly began to itch and she rolled on her side and licked them. She felt a surge beneath her tongue as another contraction started and traveled in waves along her flank. She gave a muffled cry and strained, pushing her rear paws against the den wall again. The pushing helped.
Her rapid panting was making her throat dry. She thought about going to the stream for a drink, but as she raised herself on her front paws, something seemed to twist inside her, grinding through her guts. She squeezed her eyes shut, flopped on her side and shoved her feet against the earthen wall.
Again, fear shot through her. How long would it take? Was it happening as it should? She didn’t know. She was alone with her body and the strange and awesome thing that was happening to her.
She let the fear free and it hovered around her, a cold mist that chilled her no matter how deep she burrowed into the leaves or how hard she shivered. It took hold and raged through her body, making her muscles work against each other, driving her heartbeat up until she was panting with exhaustion and turning each contraction into a crushing pain. Ratha whimpered and rubbed her cheek in the dirt. She couldn’t go any farther this way. If she let the fear possess her, she would die of terror, the cubs still unborn.
Every female since the first has gone through this, she thought furiously. If they can, I can. The clan couldn’t kill me; neither could the Un-Named. I am a herder of three-horns, the bearer of the Red Tongue and I am going to have these cubs.
“Do you hear me, litterlings?” she growled at her belly. “If you give me any more trouble, I’ll nip your wretched little tails when you come out!”
Ratha was startled to feel an answering kick from inside her. She grinned to herself. That one had to be the little female; the one that had kicked Bonechewer. The contractions began again and the fear rose, but Ratha fought it away.
“All right, little marsh-shrew,” she said as she braced herself against the wall. “You’re ... coming ... out!”
She grunted, strained until she thought she would burst and felt the cub slip backwards. She drew a breath and pushed against the wall until she thought she would make the den cave in. The pain gave way to exhilaration as she felt the cub inch downward through her. There was pressure between her loins and below her tail. One more push, she thought, feeling the skin bulge and stretch beneath her tail. The cub was coming headfirst, butting its way out into the world. Ratha’s heart raced as she curled herself backwards to look. Something tore, something slipped and there was a wet wiggling body in the leaves beside her.