Senua

Senua
Humble ⭐ Friendly
Pair Bonded to Dillion

-- Restless and Lost -- 11/10/2024
Senua paced restlessly outside the den, her dark coat shimmering under the cold light of the moon. The forest around her whispered with a wind that carried no warmth, no comfort. Dillion was just behind her, his lighter fur blending with the pale frost on the ground. He tried to meet her gaze, but she refused, her ears twitching toward the distant sound of branches creaking in the night.

Inside the den, the air had been stifling. The pups—so small, so fragile—had been restless, their cries piercing the stillness. Senua had nursed them, cleaned them, done everything a mother could do, but one by one, their tiny bodies grew cold. The last one—a little female with Senua's own dark fur—had opened her eyes just briefly, before the life ebbed away like water slipping through her paws.

She had wailed then, a sound so guttural and raw that even Dillion, steady as a stone, flinched. He entered the den, his presence quiet and careful, and pressed against her side. But there was nothing he could say. The grief that poured from her was a flood, drowning every attempt at comfort.

Now, outside under the moon, Senua stopped pacing. Her breath came in heavy clouds as her gaze darted to the shadows shifting beyond the trees. "They were here," she said, her voice sharp with pain and certainty. "The Faelcu. I felt them watching."

Dillion's ears flicked back, his calm demeanor cracking slightly. "Senua... the pups were weak. This wasn't their doing."

"You don't know that!" she snapped, rounding on him. "The air in the den—it was wrong. Thick. Stifling. They stole the air, Dillion. They took it from my babies."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice as though afraid the forest might overhear. "We've had no proof they exist. No signs."

"Isn't this proof enough?" Her voice broke, and she turned away, her body trembling. "I won't let them take anything else from me. From us."

The silence between them grew heavy. Dillion brushed his muzzle against her shoulder, grounding her as best he could.

"We'll find answers," he murmured. "But not tonight. Come back to the den."

Senua hesitated, staring into the darkness as though expecting the Faelcu to materialize before her. When nothing came, she allowed herself to lean into Dillion's steady presence. Together, they walked back to the den, where silence and loss awaited them.

But Senua's mind churned. She would not let this go. The Faelcu were real—she knew it. And if they had stolen her litter, they would answer for it.

-- Safety -- 12/01/24
The air in the den was heavy, but this time it wasn't stifling. Instead, it hummed with anticipation. Senua lay curled in the deepest chamber, her body tense despite the soft bedding beneath her. The ache of her belly came and went in waves, a reminder that the moment was fast approaching.

Dillion crouched beside her, his pale fur brushing against her flank as he murmured reassurances, though his own nervous energy was palpable. Senua didn't answer. Her green eyes flicked to the entrance of the den, where Stark and Kima lingered, speaking in low tones.

"I still don't trust this silence," Senua muttered, her voice barely above a growl.

"It's only the forest," Dillion said softly. "There's no sign of anything else."

She snorted, curling her lip. "That's what they want us to think."

Stark stepped into the den then, his dark form sleek and calm as he carried a bundle of freshly crushed herbs between his teeth. He placed it at Senua's side, his amber eyes meeting hers. "These will help. Rub some against your paws when the pains get worse—it'll ground you."

"I don't need to be grounded," Senua snapped. "I need to know my pups will be safe."

"They will be," Stark replied, his tone steady but gentle. "Kima and I are here. Whatever happens, we won't leave your side."

Kima padded closer, her amber fur glowing faintly in the dim light of the den. She placed a paw on the ground beside Senua, her youthful confidence tempered by empathy. "Nothing's going to harm them. We've done everything we can to make this den secure. We've scouted, scented, reinforced. The Faelcu are just- stories."

At the mention of the Faelcu, Senua's breath hitched. She turned her gaze away, focusing on the uneven walls of the den. Her voice dropped, barely audible. "You can't know that."

Kima hesitated, her ears flicking back, but Stark stepped in smoothly. Dillion had briefed him on Senua's paranoia. "She's right—we can't know everything," he said, crouching low beside Senua. "But what I do know is this: you've made it this far. You're stronger than whatever's out there. And you're not alone anymore."

Dillion leaned in, pressing his muzzle against Senua's cheek. "We've got this. You've got this."

Senua closed her eyes, letting the quiet murmur of their voices wash over her. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe them.

Hours passed in tense waiting. The forest outside the den remained eerily calm, the wind barely rustling the branches. When Senua's first cries echoed through the chamber, Dillion was at her side immediately, his paws steady but his eyes frantic. Stark moved in close, his healer's instincts sharp as he observed each movement, while Kima kept watch at the entrance, her body coiled and ready for anything.

The first pup came with a shuddering gasp and a wave of relief. Its cries were strong, filling the den with a sound Senua had longed to hear again. Stark worked quickly, clearing the pup and placing it beside her. Dillion nuzzled her softly as she licked it clean, her trembling breaths evening out for just a moment.

"One," Stark murmured, his voice calm but firm. "Strong and healthy."

Senua barely had time to register the moment before the next contraction gripped her. Hours passed in a blur of pain and focus, but with each pup born, the weight on her chest lifted, replaced by something she hadn't dared to hope for: joy.

By the time the sun's first rays stretched into the den, four small, squirming bundles lay nestled at her belly. Senua, exhausted but triumphant, rested her head on Dillion's paw. His tears fell freely now, mixing with the damp fur of her cheek.

"They're safe," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

At the entrance, Kima finally relaxed, her shoulders sagging as she let out a long breath. Stark stepped back, his blue eyes flicking over the scene with quiet satisfaction.

"They're more than safe," Stark said softly. "They're here. And they're strong."

Senua closed her eyes, the sound of her pups' tiny breaths filling the den. For the first time in moons, she felt the faintest flicker of peace.

-- More Loss -- 12/05/24
The days had passed slowly, each one more trying than the last. The den, once filled with the gentle sounds of nursing pups and the warmth of new life, had grown eerily quiet. Senua's eyes were heavy with exhaustion as she lay on the soft bedding, her body stiff and aching from the constant vigilance.

The first few days had been full of hope. Each of the pups had suckled greedily at her belly, their tiny bodies growing stronger by the hour. But now, the weight of loss hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

The first pup had fallen ill. Its tiny body grew weak, unable to hold its weight as it struggled to nurse. Senua had watched, helpless, as it weakened in her care. No matter what she did, the pup didn't respond. It died in the night, its fragile form cold and lifeless by the time Senua awoke.

The grief came fast, like a blade to her heart. She mourned that first loss deeply, but there was still hope. Three pups remained, their small forms strong and squirming.

The second pup fell ill soon after. The same signs—a slight weakening, its cries growing weaker, its body growing cold despite Senua's care. She had tried everything, keeping it close to her body, feeding it, licking it clean, but nothing worked. The second pup died within days of the first, leaving Senua's heart in tatters.

Kima had been at her side the whole time, her amber eyes soft with sympathy but firm with purpose. She'd suggested different herbs, and Stark had tried to bring some balance to the situation, but it was clear that the Faelcu's curse lingered in the air, affecting the pups in ways no one could explain.

By the fourth day, another pup was lost. Senua's sorrow threatened to drown her, her body trembling with the weight of each loss. The once lively cries of the pups had turned to silence, and she found herself staring at the last one, the only survivor, in disbelief.

The remaining pup, a tiny female with Dillion's light fur, had grown strong but not without signs of fragility. She nursed, she moved, but there was a lingering fear in Senua's heart that she might lose her too.

The den had grown darker, the sunlight no longer filtering in as brightly as before. The small remaining pup clung to Senua's belly, her tiny paws moving with uncertainty, as if she too could feel the shift in the air.

Senua's tail flicked anxiously as she licked her last remaining pup, the young one's body warm and soft against her. "Stay with me," she whispered, her voice raw with grief and desperation. "Please… don't leave me."

Dillion had not left her side since the first loss, his fur constantly brushing against hers, his support unwavering. But even he could not ease the ache that gripped her chest.

Kima and Stark stood outside the den, their eyes heavy with sympathy but unable to offer more than quiet words. Stark's paw rested on Kima's shoulder, his own expression a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

"She's strong," Kima murmured. "We've done everything we can. She's holding on to this one. She won't let go."

Stark's gaze remained fixed on the den entrance. "She's been through too much already. We can only wait."

Senua's eyes never left her pup. Her gaze was intense, the bond between them undeniable as she whispered a soft prayer to the spirits, begging for her pup's safety. But no matter how much she wished, how much she hoped, the fear clawed at her from within.

It had been too much, too soon. The Faelcu had already taken so much from her. She couldn't bear to lose the last of her family.

The hours stretched on, the last pup resting against her belly as Senua's body slumped in exhaustion, her eyes slowly closing.

But in that moment, she held onto hope—just enough to believe that this one would survive.