Fern

fall, year one

Fern would follow Birch to the end of the earth, and she has no idea why.

winter, year one

The two of them befriend many new wolves who are seeking warmth and food. This is a good winter for the Moonshadow Ring as far as things go. There are two puppies to keep the pack occupied, and Fern falls in love with both of them, happily cuddling them to sleep and playing with them throughout the day. Birch is graceful about it, kindly reassuring her that she's still his second.

Fern gets the feeling that many of her current pack members are temporary additions to the Ring, and that she'll see them go soon. She ends up being correct. The scout and huntress who had mated together take off to start their own pack, taking their puppies with them. This devastates Fern, and for some reason it seems these puppies were the glue that held the pack together, as after this, most of their pack mates begin to speak of migrating elsewhere, leaving them with precious scarce hunters.

spring, year one

Scouting is tiresome without the guarantee of a steady source of food. Two exhausted souls spend more time together than they used to, Horizon snuffling for herbs as Fern rescouts for feathers. Her sympathy and admiration for the herbalist grows the more dedication he shows to his craft, and the more he learns. He has become a fine, handsome wolf, and they're alone in the valley together when her heat takes her with a desolate howl.

She's still tender from the loss of the pack's pups, and is tearfully fearful for what the future holds, but her desire to strengthen the pack coupled with her trust of the kind and honest herbalist have her trotting home from patrol to tell Birch that she needs to step down from her position as his companion and take up a full time place in the nursery for the time being. He is silent when he hears this, but understands, smelling Horizon thickly in the air around her; she suggests the very wolf take her place, and Birch bows his head in concession.

summer, year one

Her puppies are finally here.

She is so happy, and she drinks in the scent of them every day, and all night. She's convinced that she was born for this, for loving and raising tiny little noses and paws.

With the summer, though, comes an explosion of puppies from neighboring territories. Birch has begun to overwhelm himself, convinced that the best way to protect his pack was to increase their numbers. Maybe he's right, but she's aching over his decision to promise one of her puppies to another pack.

"You're beautiful, Fern," he tells her, distracted and puzzled by her pain. "You'll make many more puppies, and your legacy will live on for generations after you're gone. What more can you need?"

He goes on to tell her that she bred very desirable traits into her pups, and how this is the way the forest operated, and that they've introduced so many new puppies to feed that will grow up to be stronger hunters, and how Fern hasn't made it easy on him by stepping down from her role as an experienced scout. She listens intently, but before she has the chance to sympathize with her leader, he begins to speak of negotiations for her remaining pup.

Fern stands up and bristles, two noses cold against her belly as they stay latched onto her, milk teeth sharp.

"My remaining pup stays with me," Fern snarls with her teeth on edge, tongue rolling out. The other pupsitters in the den raise their heads, but quickly lower them to avoid the possibility of eye contact. Fern's gaze is locked onto Birch anyway, who is presently surprised and yet unfazed by Fern's sudden uncharacteristic burst of aggression. "The moon hasn't changed shape since their birth!" she scolds. Her puppies whine, and her face softens, ears shamefully pulling back as she gently lays down, carefully draping the pups across the nest as she does so.

She disregards Birch then, turning to lovingly nose sparse fur. When she looks up again, Birch is gone. She keeps her puppy; names him Rabbit.

--

One morning, Fern wakes up because she's rubbing her itchy snout with the back of her wrist. It feels so good... but after a moment, her action becomes more frenzied. It isn't until she shakes her mane and looks down at her paws to see that her face is bleeding that she becomes alarmed.

Silently, she looks around, heart pounding from the tips of her ears to the base of her tail, her eyes falling on Swan's sleeping back. They had shared a weasel carcass before Horizon told Swan that she had pox.

It's okay, she told herself, slowly standing before her puppies could stir and try to nurse. It's okay. Just go see Horizon. It's okay. He can fix this.


When she successfully tiptoes out of the den and calmly makes her way to the edge of the clearing, she breaks into a sprint towards the crossroads. Her legs are tired from laying down so often, but her paws know the way like she knows her own name.

She knows Horizon made it to the herbalist bear's den before the sun rose every morning, because he was dedicated to his work and for that, she is so grateful. She doesn't slow down until she can see the tall old tree, slowing to a thudding gallop until she meets Horizon, who is drinking in the cool morning air.

"Horizon," she calls, breathless, though he could smell her coming and didn't need an announcement. He sagely moves to nuzzle her, but stops short, smelling the illness.

"You're unwell," he notes, standing and flicking his tail. He knows Swan had pox yesterday. His first thought is cast toward the pups. They exchange a very worried moment of eye contact. If one of the puppies catches this... it's unthinkable. "Come with me," he orders, turning swiftly and leading Fern into Herbert's den.