Glory [Birth Thread]

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Unfettered will fare the Fenris Wolf

and  ravaged  the realm   of  them,

ere  that   cometh   a  kingly prince

as  good,   to  stand  in  his  stead.

– from the poem Hákonarmál

The cavern was dark and quiet, save for the resounding echo of water dripping in the depths of the cavern. The soft sound was maddening as rest eluded the very pregnant she-wolf. Datura had settled on the cavern as a place to nest. Though it was damp and cool there, the temperature was constant – the pups would not freeze in a snowstorm, or arrive in a godforsaken mud hole like the offspring of some uncouth commoner. Here, they were safe, and Xena was always close by. The rhythmic breathing of her mate nearby offered little tranquility, though she was silently grateful Goliath had insisted upon being close to her as her time neared. Sleeping beside him was indescribable – his warmth, the feeling of him breathing when they rest beside each other. The sun had set hours before, but that night, Datura would not sleep.

She had given up any hope for comfort as the days had dragged on, dreadfully slow, and her middle seemed to balloon every time she blinked, growing large and rotund. Pregnancy was terribly uncomfortable, and she had barely slept for nearly a week, despite aching muscles and stiff joints from carrying the extra puppy weight. In spite of her enormous belly, it was too soon for the pups to arrive. The femme had expected the misery of pregnancy to linger on, but the stabbing pains had started when the sun sank in the west, suggested the wait would be shorter than she anticipated. Uncertain, she had left Goliath’s side so that he could continue sleeping. She would wake him only when she knew the birth was imminent, and that this was not a trick of her suffering physique. She had never given birth before, and she had no inkling of the torment to come.

The Mexican wolf paced for a long while at the mouth of the den, from one side of the entrance to the other, watching the mist roll in from the sea. The dark island vanished in the haze as a dense fog swallowed the lands whole. She imagined the great wolf god, the deity of their ancestors, as the pain intensified. She thought of how, someday, Fenrir would devour the moon and everything in his path, taking vengeance on the gods for daring to subdue the giant wolf. Weighted down by the litter she carried, she wondered if this was how it felt for Fenrir, chained and desperate to escape. Fenrir – she had never believed in the frivolity of faith before, but she was a different wolf. Goliath had changed her both inside and out, and as she suffered for her alpha, she could see the wolf god, shackled and furious. If she was blessed, if Fenrir bestowed his favor onto her as he had for Goliath, she would deliver sons, strong and worthy of their sire’s blossoming empire.

And if the pain did not kill her, if Fenrir gave his blessings, she would raise her young to believe in the same god that already gave their family so much. The passing minutes turned into agony, stealing her breath away as she walked. Muscles contracted and her limbs trembled. Finally, her pacing ceased and she settled in beside Goliath, burying her snout in his shaggy fur to stifle a pained cry. ”Wake up Goliath, now.” She pleaded, her voice strained and shaking, laced with the hint of a whine. Misery, unlike anything she had ever experienced, overcame her and the urge to push became overwhelming as instinct took hold.

The first pup arrived as silent as the night surrounding them. Datura hurried to clean the tiny pup. The newborn was still, no sound and no movement, and a sense of dread surfaced inside of the fae. Seconds felt like hours before finally, the little pup utter the faintest cry, soft and sweet. Datura stared down at the little female, eyes wide in disbelief. Now she was a mother… And the pup looked nothing like her. Even still, there was a gentle fluttering in her chest as she stared down at the little squirming thing, a sensation she had never experienced before – this was her first child. Small, but perfectly formed, a silky cream-colored the eyes of its father still hidden behind eyelids sealed shut. It would be a few days before any of them saw or heard. Cautiously, Datura nudged the pup onto its back, producing a tiny squeak of protest.

Female. Goliath’s firstborn was female. Her muzzle pushed the pale pup closer to her side and her eyes turned slowly to Goliath. For a lingering pause, she said nothing at all as the contractions began again. The pup nestled in comfortably to nurse. ”There will be more, my love.” She hissed the word through clenched jaws and bated breath. She had never used it before – and given the pain she endured for him, she had not realized she had said it at all. Within mere seconds, however, her eyes narrowed with disdain for the beast, devotion displaced by distinct ire as the torment ensued. Now, the pain seemed even worse than before. It seemed impossible to hurt more, but a strained groan parted her lips and her brown eyes rolled back in their sockets as if she was possessed. She could not speak, could not move at all, paralyzed by the pain that radiated through her entire body. It felt as it had when she conceived, as if she was being torn down the middle, her tiny body tattered and bloodied.

. . . Except this was far worse than abandoning her purity to her alpha. It felt as if all of her insides were trying to escape through her rear, but as hard as she pushed, nothing came. The quiet dignity she had managed for the first was replaced with agonized cries, the urgency and pain growing ever louder as she strained with all of her might.

The pup arrived dressed in crimson, covered from nose to tail in thick blood when, finally, the second born made its appearance to the world. The puppy was nearly twice the size as its proceeding sibling. The sight was gruesome, but dutifully, Datura’s rough tongue cleaned the gore from the pup to reveal its pure white pelt and tiny pink nose. The coat did not have any semblance of color: no spots, no markings, nothing. The pup’s jaws parted and the white wolf uttered its first noise, testing new lungs with a hearty yelp. Hastily, she nosed the pup to lift his rear end into the air to reveal his gender. An excited gasp escaped and she nearly dropped him when she saw. This child was a son.

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words : 1159

tags : @zenith

[Deleted]

There is no God - a woman’s voice broke his mind’s stasis.

Misery, cold and heavy as stone, enclosed him. A wasteland of grey, brittle earth and silent dust, spanned the distance of his vision, meeting the horizon in a bleak and ugly meniscus where the sun’s light refused to meet. There was no sound, but the sound of his breathing, and the wings of birds circling above him, forecasting death with a slight chance of rain to herald his departure from the world.

There is no God.

Urgency hampered his steps, and his leonine paws found themselves trampling upon ashen roots venting out from the ground, yet not a tree in sight could explain their origin. No, not roots – bones. Bones of a thousand of his kin, some slain and some succumbed by time or disease. Amidst the skeletal graveyard lay a twisted carcass yet to be taken apart by the birds, but the white of her fur, matted by blood, was wholly familiar to him.

There is no God. His mother’s final words – even now, he did not believe them. Fenrir’s existence was not to protect. It was to fester; to convolute and entangle all that he could, and his own lineage was the paradigm that his god had forged. His father, himself, and his many sons to come would pay tribute to the glorious mess that Fenrir had risen, an unrelenting legion of madness. There was no escape from this – for the world, or for himself.

”Wake up Goliath, now.”

A quivering voice roused his slumber, the frosted blue slit of his eye opening to glare blearily through the darkness of the cavern. At first, there was no acknowledgment in his drowsy expression, but Datura’s pained cry immediately shook him out of his dazed reverie, the remnants of his dream dissipating. He stood immediately, as nimble as his lumbering limbs would allow, pulling himself from her warmth to stand above his mate’s crippled form. His eyes were reticent in their endeavour to hide his concern - it was too early for this. Barely a month had past since he had claimed her. A grisly sense of dread engulfed him, certain than something had gone wrong.

Another frail whimper pierced the quietness of night, and unthinkingly, an indiscreet growl stirred beneath his breath, replacing the silence that fell when her whining ceased. The singularity of this moment was a revelation for him, and for the first time in his life, he felt culpability. He could do nothing but watch, and as Datura’s hopeless expression found his, contorting with distress and agony, he approached her, unable to wait for nature to instigate her convulsions. His snout caressed her ribs in one slow stroke before pressing his muzzle against her stomach, silently coaxing her to push. His ministrations were unpitying and unyielding, but with each of her cries, the pit in his stomach was lightened by his insistence, knowing that she was drawing closer to delivering.

A frail body emerged from her – silent and small, pale in the scant light. Datura was immediate in her reaction to the diminutive pup, promptly cleaning the dampness of its fur, desperate to rile a reaction from it. The brute watched her frantic nurturing, as soundless as their pup in his stoicism, as a dread far more unseen and silent crept upon him. The pup had no obvious deformities, asides from its diminutive size – but even if she did manage to coax life into it, an undersized male would serve no purpose to Kairos. It would be better off dead – but as that thought entered his mind, a fragile bleating filled the bated air, the pup stirring to life. An amalgam of wonder and disbelief overcame Datura’s expression, too preoccupied by the delicate mass to notice Goliath’s grave expression. He would perform the deed himself; a jerk of his teeth and its degrading existence would cease, unable to one day proliferate its stunted genes into the world.

Datura gently moved the squirming pup onto its back, revealing it’s gender, and Goliath’s breath fell short in his bated lungs. A girl. Confliction spurned him, ultimately disappointed by it’s gender but somehow relieved that it had thus earned a reprieve from it’s untimely end. Immediately his gaping mouth descended over the pup – licking its rump with careful purpose, he aided Datura’s exhausted attempts in nudging the pup closer to its mother swollen stomach, goading it to latch onto a bloated teat. He could sense Datura’s apprehension, her disappointment and shame in offering him a daughter as his firstborn marring her expression with mortification.

”There will be more, my love.”

“Quiet,” he spoke firmly, though his expression was austere. Imposing judgement upon her so early would only encumber her with undue stress, a thing he would not do whilst there was still the hope of more pups dormant within her. Resentment was quick to replace the bleakness of her expression, the agony of childbirth contorting her mind with feelings of dread and blame, but the bitter change in her eyes barely caused a stir in him. She needed to remain calm, and burdening her with his scrutiny would only jeopardise the safety of the lives still to come. For them, he would forsake his impatience in a heartbeat.

The second pup to arrive was a garish torment to the femme, her cry a deafening decree of the monster that was to come. A hefty pup clawed its way out of her heat, covered snout to tail with blood, practically dwarfing the runt that had preceded it. This one was another pale creature, yet different in some arcane way – it seemed to lack pigment across the entirety of its body, the flesh pasty and its blood-soaked fur almost translucent. Datura cleaned the ethereal pup untiringly, the demonic red exterior becoming a virginal white as she scoured it with her tongue, removing the excess until – bold as brass – his gender was revealed.

Goliath’s tail lifted in an overwrought wag, his eyes wide with immodesty at the brute he had created. His monolithic head moved closer to the boy, nuzzling his snout against the wet fur as his heated breath showered it with the scent of Kairos, bestowing his blessing upon his firstborn son. Pride enveloped him, conquering his own arrogance and filling him with a giddy sense of conceit, the closest thing to love he had experienced since claiming Datura.

His kingdom had begun, and Kairos’ future had been born from the womb of a worthy mate. Nothing, not Fenrir nor the death of Ferus, could have torn his happiness from him now.

Tagged: @datura

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Bear hence, my sons,

what thy mother hath said:

Thine ever shall be the best of fortune,

So long as my words shall last.

– the Hamðismál

She set her stark white newborn back to the ground to find warmth by Mother's side, nudging him closer with the tip of her dark nose to find his place beside his much-smaller sister. Her eyes flicked upward to see Goliath’s reaction as he stood above their son. The boy’s fur was so light, his robust size unexpected – he hardly seemed real. It felt as if her heart would burst, the excitement temporarily replacing the torment of new motherhood. To see the pride in her mate’s expression as he examined his firstborn son gave her immense satisfaction. The moment would have been entirely picture perfect, had the labor pains subsided for a few seconds more. Her enormous abdomen – she had been boastful of her growing size at first, but was thoroughly sick of it all now – remained heavy, still swollen with new life. Still, she looked as wretched and full as she had moments before, belly heaving, muscles strained and contracting as her body fought to rid itself of the remaining puppies, still hidden away from the world.

And so, Datura’s horror began anew. The first pup’s birth had been a cruel tease for what she would endure again and again, a false impression of how horrendously pain her following siblings would bring. The female’s birth had been a mere fraction of the pain Datura now experienced, unavoidable and ferocious. Her eyes were wide open, aghast, staring hard at the gaping mouth of the cavern, above Goliath’s head and into the darkness of the night. She could feel the next pup coming, the intense pressure and the need to push overwhelming her again. She held her breath, a wavering cry escaping through clenched teet. With one final push, the third pup slipped from the darkness onto the cold stone ground. Again, Datura’s chin craned down to wash the pup clean, nudging the newborn beneath its muzzle to rouse it. Thankfully, this time, an immediate cry escaped. Another pup arrived to Kairos, as burly as its preceding brother, and another silky, pale coat. A fleeting, amused thought flipped through her head: apparently her offspring were destined to look like their sire’s side of the family. As she turned the pup onto its side with her muzzle to reveal its gender to its expectant father, the infant’s little legs batted at the air, thrashing wildly in disapproval. A sharp yip demanded, wordlessly, to be set down. Mother’s smile grew wide at the sight of the proof, hidden there between the newborn’s thighs: Another male.

She was given a mere moment, the shortest pause before the suffering resumed again. The gravity of her situation was becoming painfully clear. Her agony was far from over, in spite of the mounting exhaustion and growing concern. This was not what she had anticipated. Every inch of her hurt already, no hope for relief. It only became worse with each consecutive pup, as if her body itself was rebelling against the torture – something she had wanted, but at the moment, it was difficult to remember why. Her body screamed along with her ragged voice as the labor now seemed never-ending. Fenrir would not be satisfied with only three new disciples. Her body writhed on the ground, an angry cry echoed through the cavern and the blood in her veins was like magma. Her blazing eyes narrowed with overwhelming agitation at her alpha. Are you satisfied yet? Her reverence vanished in favor of outrage, dark lip curled to reveal sharp canines – for what he had done to her, putting her in this situation, for what he had done with others. She wanted to tear the muzzle right off of his giant face. As another contraction shook her, the fae’s head jerked forward and her teeth parted to nip at Goliath’s shoulder before the rage subsided into misery.

The she-wolf’s breathing was haggard, each uneven breath aching in her lungs as she lay on the stone, in obvious distress. Three pups suckled comfortably, content in one another’s warmth, as their mother was becoming convinced of her own impending doom. Nothing could be this horrible without death as the final chapter. Panting and growing dizzy, her body took charge once more. Another pup arrived to a song of torment – it was too much, too much for one female to endure. Still covered in its mother’s blood, Datura could see immediately that the fourth pup was not as pale as its brothers and sister. The pup was dark, and while she knew the fur color was likely to change, she was silently grateful to have a pup that vaguely resembled her Goliath – and, she hoped, the hints of auburn she saw would remain. She knew she had to clean them as quickly as possible. Every second that passed could mean life or death for the pup, before they took their first breath. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the youngest pup’s sex clearly defined – another male. One more son.

It seemed too good to be true, but the pup gave no indication that he was still living. She licked the mess that covered the pup’s face, but it lay limp between her paws as her touch became more fervent. She nudged him cautiously with her narrow snout. The boy was quiet as a grave. After a lingering, terrifying moment, one tiny paw, each miniature claw perfectly formed and sharp as needles, reached out as if he was stretching leisurely, and the smallest of yawns parted his jaws. An unconscious sigh of relief escaped, accompanied by a gentle smile as she looked at the dark newborn, moving awkwardly on his own to find a place to nurse. ”Three sons,” she mused aloud, focus turning away from their litter to the icy blue pools of her alpha.

Now it was over, she presumed. She offered a weary grin, triumphant. Four offspring could be a respectable size for a litter, especially if it was her first.

… Until it started once more, that jagged pain – no warrior, no matter how fierce, could imagine such suffering. Her expression buckled and the terror returned to her façade. ”More.” Vision blurred, she choked down another cry. ”There are still more.” Her words were no longer a promise of things to come -more of a plea for relief that the male could not offer.

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words: 1111
tag: @zenith

[Deleted]

Two more sons.

Goliath was delirious with pride. Three brutes to carry his name – to be born, to live, and to die in his honour. The pain that tore at his mate, and her accompanying anguish, barely registered in his mind as his eyes roamed over his sons in wordless awe. They were perfect, every torturous inch of them, sculpted in his very likeness – monstrous and kicking with readiness for life.

Surely, this litter had been intervened by somewhere unseen; perhaps Fenrir had played his part in their crafting, choosing now of all times to deliver greatness at his paws instead of calamity. At the pinnacle of his supremacy, his god and equal had rewarded him with children of truly righteous proportion, worthy of his blood – perhaps his life’s labour had led up to this one, defining moment of recompense, to reward him for all that he had endured and lost. Could Fenrir justly be so capricious and indecisive, to hand out blessings and damnation as though it were merely the changing of wind and rain?

A chuckle began at the pit of Goliath’s stomach – a quiet laughter that reverberated through the dank misery of the cavern, drowning out the haggard breathing and whimpering of his mate. He would never acknowledge Fenrir with anything more than embittered salutation, let alone gratitude, but this one rarefied kindness from the god had Goliath in a state of astounded irony. His laughter could not cease, and only deepened into the guttural recesses of his chest to be muffled by the heartless cavern. Datura’s condition was no more hysterical than his own; blinded by pain, she stared at him with such resentment, and rightly so. The moment her lip curled to reveal an incensed snarl, Goliath grinned portentously, the sharp edges of his canines flashing in the dimness as he nuzzled his maw against hers, his bared teeth sliding against hers. Their fangs touched, a carnal breath radiating from between Goliath’s clenched teeth. A thrill elicited in his veins as she sharply bit at his withers, the poor femme desperate to be free from the agony, and his tail wagged gently in rapt satisfaction at the work his children were putting her body through.

This was the only way. If the night had been a gentle one, his pups arriving with soundless ease, then they would not have been worthy of their title as the princes of Kairos. Their deliverance into the world had to be one of distress and torment; larger-than-life creatures clawing out from the womb, foreshadowing their strength and formidable potential.

Finally, Datura grinned, apparently finished with the ordeal. She eyed him with a smile, but beneath it remained her underlying weariness and relief. “Three sons,” she spoke softly, pride and wonder vivid in her voice despite the lingering exhaustion.

Goliath mimicked her reverence, imposing his tongue against her cheek as a sign of his admiration. The blood, her cries, the utter determination and anger in every breath; the ordeal had been beautiful to watch, and the alpha could not help but lay in awed silence as her panting softened to tender breathing. No greater gift could have been given to him - three worthy sons and a healthy daughter to carry his lineage one generation closer to immortality.

His maw left hers to instead search the clutch of wriggling offspring at her stomach. The girl was already nursing peacefully as Goliath’s enormous snout slid along her back; as was his firstborn son, latched so fervently against Datura’s stomach and still slightly smattered with blood.

“Samson, my son… you will be strong,” he spoke softly as his nose touched the robust white pup, who wriggled heartily at the touch.

“And you, Beleth. You will be mighty,” a dark ghost of a smile graced his lips before, again, his snout dropped to rub against the third pale pup.

The next boy, the one that resembled him the most, was yet to find his place at his mother’s teat. Carefully, Goliath nestled the pup closer to Datura’s still-swollen belly, although the boy paid him little heed. “Erebos, so headstrong already...” he chided lowly, nuzzling the pup flush against her round stomach.

Suddenly, amidst the peace and serenity, Datura cried out again – more – and Goliath’s ears perked, his expression stern with confusion. Surely not? It was a miracle Datura had managed thus far to deliver four young, three of which seemed too large to individually fit inside her.

How in Fenrir’s name could there be more?

Tagged: @datura
OOC: Hope it's not too crappy D:

[Deleted]

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Great glory we have gained,

though now or tomorrow we shall die: 

No one  lives against the  gods' decree.

– the Hamðismál

The enormous alpha regarded each of his new children with a sense of wonder that Datura had never witnessed before. Her heart felt as if it would burst, the pride and the glee evident on her auburn-tinted façade as she felt the warm caress of his tongue against her fur. The pain was receding, the low octave of his voice soothing – the same voice that would make their enemies to shiver in terror. He gave his son a name, each moniker apropos for the massive beasts they would someday become. It would be the start of something big – a lineage unlike any that had called Anikira home. Her own litter, and only Fenrir knew how many more pups Kairos would receive. The coming months would deliver a population explosion of epic proportions, one that Datura could not foresee.

Hers were only the beginning of an army that would defend their father’s empire. Today, they were helpless infants, but they would grow faster, soon to tower over their Mexican she-wolf mother. Her sons were already larger than a lesser newborn, because her sons were not born to be average. They were destined for glory…

The sudden, sharp pain stole the breath from her lungs, eyes rolling back in her skull. There was an incessant pounding in her ears. She could feel it in her chest, beating double-time within her ribcage, blood coursing through the veins. The heavy scent of it hung in the air – her blood, spilled for her savior. She still did not feel right. Her muscles still shuddered, the moment of respite for the female short-lived. There were too many emotions picking at her mind, worry and wonder and joy – it was almost as insufferable as the horrendous pain.

The fear had faded into simmering frustration. She was determined to finish this, her most important duty, as her body tensed once more, preparing itself for the agony that seemed neverending. ”Come on,” she growled at the unborn pup. If she failed to expel the youngest of the litter, she would die – and worse yet, the entire litter would perish along with their mother. No other females had given birth within the pack. The pups would starve within days. No one could take her place.

Everything else seemed distant, as if she was watching from far away, but she could feel him there beside her, divinity made tangible. His musk, his closeness kept her focused as she pushed – another impossibly large newborn, and another male. She gave the boy a gentle nudge before he was moving, sightless and deaf but still crawling with a purpose. He found his way to his mother’s side, blindly maneuvering his way over the heads of several siblings in his mission to find his first meal. ”He will be called Typhon. Anikira will fear the brute he will grow to be. Our sons will fight by your side. For Kairos.”

Mere seconds had passed, the words barely escaping her tongue before the persistent torment ensued. She had little time to react, body now becoming acclimated to the strenuous labor. The final pup arrived with little effort on Datura’s part, her exhausted form almost too overwhelmed to push, but the pup came, determined to find its way into the world, with or without its mother’s help. The last of the litter resembled Datura – its fur was an array of jumbled colors, charcoal and russet and cream, and it was as hefty as its preceding brothers. Incredulous, a course laugh rumbled in her throat. ”A final son—“ But the last word caught on her tongue as the newborn wiggled and squirmed where it lay, teetering blindly away from the rest, when Datura saw her mistake for herself. The pup was massive, but it was definitely not a boy. ”Oh. It is a girl.” In spite of her surprise, Datura was not wholly disappointed. She had done well delivering four sons. The females were special, as well. Datura would have company when the boys left to train across the sea: two lovely daughters to someday carry on their father’s legacy, to serve Kairos and make their father proud. What marvelous offspring they would someday produce…

”She is the last.”  Datura was fairly certain this time – though now, it would hardly surprise her if there were half a dozen more pups hiding within her womb. Mercifully, she noted with a sideways glance to her exhausted body, her hugely swollen belly was now gone. Her tongue washed over the youngest child’s forehead, garnering a loud squeal of protest from the chubby female. ”Lilith. She will rival her brothers in size.” Finally, her attention turned to the firstborn, the final pup to be given a name. She was by far the smallest of the litter, but Datura suspected she would be a spitfire just like her mother, even if she would never grow to be as imposing as her barely-younger siblings. ”And beautiful Pandora, you will charm them all.”

The pain faded into a numb fog, replaced with weakness she had never felt before, left with nothing inside. Blurred focus fixed upon the hefty litter. She had never seen anything as amazing as the pups suckling at her side, unaware of the pain they had caused their mother. Her eyelids felt heavy, but Datura resisted the urge to fall asleep, fighting against the sleep her body craved. Still she bled. The crimson flow had nearly subsided, yet a nagging voice within her urged her to stay awake or risk never rising again. She was not ready to succumb to the inevitable eternal slumber. She had six promising pups that she was responsible for now – to ensure the boys became fearsome warriors, and the girls, forever loyal to Kairos.

She lifted her muzzle to feel Goliath, resting her head against his barreled chest. The femme would survive the ordeal, in spite of the odds, but tonight, she needed her alpha there. ”Stay.”

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words: 1069

tag: @zenith

ooc: babies!!

[Deleted]

As the next son made himself known to the world, Goliath watched in silent approval as Datura nudged the fat whelp onto his legs, the young pup beginning the arduous journey to find his mother’s abounding teat, no matter which siblings he had to crawl over. Goliath chose not to help this one, watching instead with a proud curiosity how the sightless boy navigated his way through naïve scent and sensation alone. This one would be strong, indeed – stronger than the others, perhaps? Only time would time.

He will be called Typhon. Anikira will fear the brute he will grow to be. Our sons will fight by your side. For Kairos.

Datura’s conviction was admirable, her loyalty enduring even in her state of dire fatigue – Goliath couldn’t begrudge her naming this one son. “For Kairos,” he echoed in like-minded devotion, assured that his sons would grow to be formidable and fearsome warriors like their father, and like his father before him. Greatness was in their blood – there would be no avoidance for destiny, not in his heritage.

Again, Datura’s pain began anew, signalling the birth of yet another child in a litter that was already too large to be true. It seemed that the dainty femme had begun to grow adjusted to her agony, the contractions coming to her easier and without the shrieks of distress, but Goliath’s fascination at Datura’s sufferance had not adjusted in the least. Though Goliath’s initial disbelief at the offspring his mate had given him thus far had quelled into something far more enamoured and impressed, he was no less awestruck by each new arrival. His wonder hadn’t ceased at the second pup, nor the third, fourth, or even fifth… and now, at the moment of birth of his sixth pup – a son, by the look of him – the alpha could not help but allow a besotted grin to liven his face, his eyes uncharacteristically youthful as he assessed the final pup in all of its blind and sodden glory.

A final son-

Datura’s words caught in her throat, having prematurely arrived at the same conclusion that Goliath had.

…Oh. It is a girl.

Goliath’s brows immediately furrowed, apparently having overlooked whatever Datura had seen in that split moment. “Surely not,” he mused sceptically, his eyes searching the meaty pup, who was clearly a rival in size to its other massive brothers. When the brute finally saw the evidence for himself, an expression of dubious curiosity passed over his face like a dark cloud that was soon broken by sunlight. Was this some misshapen blessing, perhaps? The pup was more beast than femme, a brute in every sense of the word – except lacking in the necessary genitals. Out of marvel, he prodded the young newborn with his nose, earning a hearty mewl from his youngest – a shadow of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth, but he concealed it in an instant. This was certainly not normal… she, was certainly not normal. But in that moment, he realised the utter injustice of that lone thought; nothing about this litter was normal. Perhaps he could forgive his second daughter for being the oddity that she was – hell, perhaps she would encourage her brothers to ascend higher and fight harder, all to avoid the shame of being bested by their baby sister.

Lilith. She will rival her brothers in size.

It was clear from her tone of voice that she was discreetly proud of the beast that her daughter was – Lilith, as she was now named – and perhaps in time he could learn to adopt the same acceptance for her. She was his daughter, after all – his blood in purest form. Though she subverted every strict ideology he had that separated men from women, she would surely become something worthy, with time and discipline, so long as she did not shame her brothers for their likeness to her.

And beautiful Pandora, you will charm them all.

A genuine smile came upon his lips, his gaze filtering through the masses of enormous whelping bodies to find the smallest of them all – a tiny, dainty mess of brown and reds. A perfect girl. So much like her mother, Goliath did not attempt to hide the sincere affection he already had for this one. Though the others were all magnificent in their own right, undeniably headed for glory, the smallest girl was headed for something far more discreet and unknown. The others were mighty enough to soon fight on their own four paws, if they were anything like him, but their strength could easily damn them with power and depravity. Pandora’s fate would be so unlike his own – perhaps they could all learn to live vicariously beside her fragility, through her purity, like dark behemoths drawn to a warm, lulling flame.

All of the pups suckled quietly now, and the silence that followed was so foreign and peculiar, after much of the night had been filled with gasps and wails of anguish. Goliath lay before Datura and his pups, satisfied that her pain was now over, shrouding the litter with the warmth of their mother and father. The scent of blood and other fluid was overwhelming, and Goliath dutifully begun the slow process of licking away the mess and chaos from Datura’s hindquarters, deliberately avoiding the most sensitive area. A curious thought came to him as he studied Datura’s shape amidst the darkness; he was sorely going to miss the roundness of her belly, and the inescapable waddle of her heavy steps. Her physique had more or less returned to the svelte, slender frame that preceded her pregnancy – a shape that still undeniably captivated him – but he had grown fond of seeing her small body heaving with life and fertility, as though his enormous weight continued to mount her long after their coupling was over. Watching her bloom and grow into the plump figure of motherhood, carrying his pups within her as though the very purpose of her existence was to do that, and only that. As though she existed only for him. It was a beautiful thing, watching a creature as small and frail as Datura cultivate life from nothing but his own brutal seed. He had lived most of his life believing that he was the almighty one – true, he could strive to slay a hundred bears in his lifetime, or claim a hundred lands. He would kill a thousand wolves who dared to stand in his way – but through all of that, he would never be able to bring a single life into the world. Not one.

If only Datura knew of the power she held over him. There was far more power to be had in giving life, than taking it away. The greatest of empires could not be built upon death - but born from the womb of a woman, and built upwards by a worthy man.

She needed him - but moreover, he needed her, as well.

Tagged: @datura