A Birthing Gone Wrong... (open!)

[Sivoncé™]

Twilla's breathing was becoming fainter and fainter by the second. Sweat dripped down her pelt in steady-flowing streams, and a trickle of blood wound it's way from her mouth. Coughin racked her body, a pink and blistered mess. Most of her fur had been shed, a symptom of her terribly sickness. All her beloved mate could do was watch. She knew, in a way, it was killing him as much as her.

"Stigg...I...I love you..."
"I love you too, Twilla..." he managed, voice scarcely audible. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he did his best to keep them in. This was her final moment, he knew it; he could feel it. There was no reversing, no going back. If that was what she wanted to say in the end, then he would let her know that he felt it, too.

He bent down to lick the single surviving pup. The pup was a male, light brown and cream, just like Twilla. He didn't yet have a name, and Stigg looked up at Twilla, eyes frantic and pleading.

"His name is...name...is...Weed." Her thoughts flickered for a moment to her father, Ragweed, lost and beyond her memory. Her eyes began to dull over, her last gaze at Stigg one of loss, love, and pain.

"Then Weed he shall be..."

[silverpelt12]

Blurr rushed in. He'd heard the panting and sounds of birthing. He wanted to help, "She's gone," he murmured sadly checking her pulse. He smelled her. The desiese. It was sweeping the forest and killing all in it's path. He let out a few rapid coughs. Chesty but not terrible.The grey brute looked to Stigg, it looked like all the saddness of the world in his eyes, "I'm so sorry for your loss." he woofed.

[mudfang]

(PERFECT TIME)

Tumbleweed was no where near his neice. Why? It was quite a tragic thing, really...

Tumbleweed lay, panting, on the ground. His fur was muddy, his ribs poking from under his thinning fur. He had been there for three days. He was dieing.

The old brute took a shallow breath. "I tried Ragweed... I really tried..." His last words were cut off by a gurgling sound. Being so old, he had not gone into the stage of madness.

His eyes slid shut, after much protesting by himself. His breathing became shallower, and there was one more gasp before Tumbleweed lie still.