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Years had passed, and each night between the disappearance of her beloved Crow put distance between Swan and her grief. She had dreams of building a pack once, but not in any way like the one she now called her own. While her visions had granted her litters of pups and a prosperous family, the reality of the Flockend pack was far from it. Their home was a waypoint for many travelers, and through the seasons many had joined them. Some had families, others walked their paths alone, and a few had banded together already. Each one was welcome, and in time their territory was the home of all manner of wolves, young and old, and in the best of months, the sounds of pups playing in their dens had echoed through their usual encampment. Swan's den, however, remained silent.

(TW: Stillbirth)
    Swan heaved to the ground, exhausted. She would have thought she would be used to labor by now, but with her age, it seemed like every push had sent ice picks throughout her body. Panting, she didn’t want to look behind yet and see the inevitable.
    “Swan,” General, an older, battle-scarred yet gentle wolf who had joined their oddball pack, whispered to her remorsefully from his place behind her.

“I’m sorry.”

She knew the words were coming, but still, her heart dropped. Unwilling to turn around and see, she closed her eyes against the growing, bitter tears. “How many were there?” she choked out.
    “Seven. Three boys and four girls.”
    She sighed, empty, her hopes crushed. “General, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you bury them for me, under the oak with the others?”
    “Of course.” Sighing, he shook his head. “I wish it could be different, friend. Seems like it just wasn’t meant to be.”

(TW ends)
    He shook his head, stooping down with creaking joints. Suddenly halting, he sprung up, wide-eyed astonishment turning to a wide grin in seconds.

  “By the light of the moon, Swan! Take a look a’ this!”
    Swan craned her neck back to see. Leaning back down, General gladly held up the fruit of her labors; a single, wriggling and crying she-pup, and set her down between her front paws.
    “Like mother, like daughter, she’s a stubborn one.”

    Swan’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she lay there, heart racing, feeling as if she was floating. She let out a joyous cry and began to weep with happiness, licking and kissing her new baby and trying to fathom the miracle. “Oh, thank you, General, thank you! Oh, oh, quick! Go tell him!”
    Mountain and Hawkstone were there in minutes, her mate breathless from the run. He looked down at the blind and deaf newborn between her paws, his breath quickening.
    “My love, it’s happened! It’s finally happened!” Swan cried out, bitter tears replaced with joy as she nuzzled the tiny life in between her front paws.
    Mountain’s astonishment faded, his eyes dimming as he sat. He stood still as old stone, watching Swan babble on and on to both him and her new daughter, planning out her future before having decided on a name for her.
    “Hawkstone, come look at your new baby sister! She’ll be strong--oh, Mountain, she has your angry brow and--just--just look at her…” Swan trailed off, voice shaking, her smile fading as Mountain loomed. His eyes were dim, almost pitying, and hollow. "Just look at your daughter, Mountain."

Instead, it was Hawkstone who looked down at the two of them, his eyes focused on the wriggling new pup between Swan’s paws. “She’s awfully small, don’t you think?” he said, his nose wrinkling.
    There was something in his eyes that frightened her, something raw and hot and hating, a feeling that she had only glimpsed in him since that fateful night years past.
I remember all my children, Swan thought to herself.
Something had changed in Hawkstroke, or did it? Could it be she had just refused to see beyond the golden blindfold of motherhood? Did she trust her only son?
    Pulling her miracle close in comfort, she warily looked up at her son with a different understanding. “I’d like to have a moment alone with your father,” she said, a little more gruffly than she’d intended.
    Ripping his gaze away from the wriggling pup, Hawkstone slunk silently from the cave, leaving Mountain and Swan in the silence. Though the den was small, there was something massive and biting in the stillness between them, as cold as ice.
    “...so, she breathes, and...everything?” he asked, finally looking down at his daughter as if she wasn't really there.
    “Yes. She’s as strong as a pup can be.” she said firmly. She wanted to ask for him to join her, to meet his new daughter, but he seemed as if he was preparing for the inevitable. If she passed, she wouldn’t be the first, and Mountain knew better than to get attached.
    Her mate sighed, his old bones creaking. No matter how proudly he stood, he was in no way the wolf she had escaped with, raised her son with, and tried and tried again to start a proper family with. The years and losses had taken their toll, and the empty shell of the boy she once loved spoke. “How long does General think she has?”
    Swallowing her optimism, she answered. “I didn’t ask.”
    “You mean, you don’t want to know.” Mountain’s voice was sharper than she expected. Scooting closer to him, she rested a paw on his.
    “She will live. I know she will.” she huffed, her voice almost pleading.
    Mountain stood up, silent as stone, brushing her off coldly. “For your sake, I hope you’re right,” he said, turning away.
    Swan’s anger bristled as he walked out, leaving her alone with her only daughter. General slunk in, time after time, checking on her as he worked. Swan snuggled her daughter closer, taking in the smell of new life. She knew where they would be buried. She would lay flowers over their grave and mourn them, too.
  I remember all my children, and how each of their fires flickered and puttered and went out, leaving their smoke and nothing more.
    Tears rolling down her cheeks, she pulled her daughter in and wept, not hearing her own cries in the oddly calm silence within her. Her cub was warm and moving and bursting with life, Swan was sure of it.
  I remember all of my children, but you will burn brightest, daughter. You have enough of my hope in you to live, damn you.
    General’s voice echoed in her head.

    “Like mother, like daughter,” Swan echoed, a firm pledge to herself and the tiny life beside her.

    “Cygnet. Her name will be Cygnet.”

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Part One - Birds of Predators Pt. 1 - Snow Heron by Rosekind on DeviantArt
Previous - Birds of Predators Pt. 2 - Mourning Dove by Rosekind on DeviantArt
Next - To Be Continued
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Description

Years had passed, and each night between the disappearance of her beloved Crow put distance between Swan and her grief. She had dreams of building a pack once, but not in any way like the one she now called her own. While her visions had granted her litters of pups and a prosperous family, the reality of the Flockend pack was far from it. Their home was a waypoint for many travelers, and through the seasons many had joined them. Some had families, others walked their paths alone, and a few had banded together already. Each one was welcome, and in time their territory was the home of all manner of wolves, young and old, and in the best of months, the sounds of pups playing in their dens had echoed through their usual encampment. Swan's den, however, remained silent.

(TW: Stillbirth)
    Swan heaved to the ground, exhausted. She would have thought she would be used to labor by now, but with her age, it seemed like every push had sent ice picks throughout her body. Panting, she didn’t want to look behind yet and see the inevitable.
    “Swan,” General, an older, battle-scarred yet gentle wolf who had joined their oddball pack, whispered to her remorsefully from his place behind her.

“I’m sorry.”

She knew the words were coming, but still, her heart dropped. Unwilling to turn around and see, she closed her eyes against the growing, bitter tears. “How many were there?” she choked out.
    “Seven. Three boys and four girls.”
    She sighed, empty, her hopes crushed. “General, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you bury them for me, under the oak with the others?”
    “Of course.” Sighing, he shook his head. “I wish it could be different, friend. Seems like it just wasn’t meant to be.”

(TW ends)
    He shook his head, stooping down with creaking joints. Suddenly halting, he sprung up, wide-eyed astonishment turning to a wide grin in seconds.

  “By the light of the moon, Swan! Take a look a’ this!”
    Swan craned her neck back to see. Leaning back down, General gladly held up the fruit of her labors; a single, wriggling and crying she-pup, and set her down between her front paws.
    “Like mother, like daughter, she’s a stubborn one.”

    Swan’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she lay there, heart racing, feeling as if she was floating. She let out a joyous cry and began to weep with happiness, licking and kissing her new baby and trying to fathom the miracle. “Oh, thank you, General, thank you! Oh, oh, quick! Go tell him!”
    Mountain and Hawkstone were there in minutes, her mate breathless from the run. He looked down at the blind and deaf newborn between her paws, his breath quickening.
    “My love, it’s happened! It’s finally happened!” Swan cried out, bitter tears replaced with joy as she nuzzled the tiny life in between her front paws.
    Mountain’s astonishment faded, his eyes dimming as he sat. He stood still as old stone, watching Swan babble on and on to both him and her new daughter, planning out her future before having decided on a name for her.
    “Hawkstone, come look at your new baby sister! She’ll be strong--oh, Mountain, she has your angry brow and--just--just look at her…” Swan trailed off, voice shaking, her smile fading as Mountain loomed. His eyes were dim, almost pitying, and hollow. "Just look at your daughter, Mountain."

Instead, it was Hawkstone who looked down at the two of them, his eyes focused on the wriggling new pup between Swan’s paws. “She’s awfully small, don’t you think?” he said, his nose wrinkling.
    There was something in his eyes that frightened her, something raw and hot and hating, a feeling that she had only glimpsed in him since that fateful night years past.
I remember all my children, Swan thought to herself.
Something had changed in Hawkstroke, or did it? Could it be she had just refused to see beyond the golden blindfold of motherhood? Did she trust her only son?
    Pulling her miracle close in comfort, she warily looked up at her son with a different understanding. “I’d like to have a moment alone with your father,” she said, a little more gruffly than she’d intended.
    Ripping his gaze away from the wriggling pup, Hawkstone slunk silently from the cave, leaving Mountain and Swan in the silence. Though the den was small, there was something massive and biting in the stillness between them, as cold as ice.
    “...so, she breathes, and...everything?” he asked, finally looking down at his daughter as if she wasn't really there.
    “Yes. She’s as strong as a pup can be.” she said firmly. She wanted to ask for him to join her, to meet his new daughter, but he seemed as if he was preparing for the inevitable. If she passed, she wouldn’t be the first, and Mountain knew better than to get attached.
    Her mate sighed, his old bones creaking. No matter how proudly he stood, he was in no way the wolf she had escaped with, raised her son with, and tried and tried again to start a proper family with. The years and losses had taken their toll, and the empty shell of the boy she once loved spoke. “How long does General think she has?”
    Swallowing her optimism, she answered. “I didn’t ask.”
    “You mean, you don’t want to know.” Mountain’s voice was sharper than she expected. Scooting closer to him, she rested a paw on his.
    “She will live. I know she will.” she huffed, her voice almost pleading.
    Mountain stood up, silent as stone, brushing her off coldly. “For your sake, I hope you’re right,” he said, turning away.
    Swan’s anger bristled as he walked out, leaving her alone with her only daughter. General slunk in, time after time, checking on her as he worked. Swan snuggled her daughter closer, taking in the smell of new life. She knew where they would be buried. She would lay flowers over their grave and mourn them, too.
  I remember all my children, and how each of their fires flickered and puttered and went out, leaving their smoke and nothing more.
    Tears rolling down her cheeks, she pulled her daughter in and wept, not hearing her own cries in the oddly calm silence within her. Her cub was warm and moving and bursting with life, Swan was sure of it.
  I remember all of my children, but you will burn brightest, daughter. You have enough of my hope in you to live, damn you.
    General’s voice echoed in her head.

    “Like mother, like daughter,” Swan echoed, a firm pledge to herself and the tiny life beside her.

    “Cygnet. Her name will be Cygnet.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part One - Birds of Predators Pt. 1 - Snow Heron by Rosekind on DeviantArt
Previous - Birds of Predators Pt. 2 - Mourning Dove by Rosekind on DeviantArt
Next - To Be Continued
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------