— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
He is only mildly surprised when she is again overcome with pain, but it does nothing to abate the fear that rises like bile in his throat. Something about the pregnancy had seemed amiss, and it would only make sense that there were twins. But the sound and sight of her struggling, again, was enough to make his blood run cold, and to again bring forth the imagery of Choke’s mother lifeless on the ground, and him, still damp from birth.
With the now standing newborn filly still tucked into his chest — her small head nestled against the antler marking — he reaches down to again lend his touch against Wonder’s cheek. Even though his heart is a thunderous sound against his ribcage, he doesn’t want her to sense the fear and worry that digs its claws so tightly in his chest. His lips trail again against her neck, now slick with sweat, and he clenches his jaw tightly at the groans of effort and pain. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the sound low and grating but somehow gentle even when lost in the tangles of her mane. Sorry she’s in pain, sorry it was partially his fault, and sorry that there was nothing he could do to help her.
His worry is not sated when there is at last relief. The damp bundle that wriggles in the sand is clearly not like Rosine, and he notices that almost immediately. He can see the confusion on Wonder’s face, and that causes him to tear his gaze away from her tired face to look at the small, wet bundle behind her.
And even for one so stoic and inexpressive as himself, there is no denying the confusion that clouds his face at the sight of not one, but two wolf pups. “How….” he begins, but it dies quickly on his tongue. He cannot even form a coherent question to ask her how this was even possible. He is so enraptured and lost in the way his mind is trying to reason with reality that he doesn’t notice Wonder’s wolf guardian has crept closer. Not that it made a difference — she didn’t have the answers, either, but perhaps he would have been able to piece together the way the wolves were so intricately woven into her blood.
He is still frozen where he stands, with Rosine nosing against his side, and when Wonder begins to tend to the two newborns the same way he had their first daughter he forces a neutral expression to his face. He doesn’t immediately reach for them the way he had the firstborn, but when Wonder looks and urges him closer, he reluctantly obeys.
His nose brushes lightly against the first one that she names — Thorn. He smells like Wonder, and so even though every instinct screams at him that something isn’t right, and even though his mind cannot conjure a logical conclusion to why this happened, he decides to accept it. His muzzle brushes again against the still damp fur of Thorn, a little less hesitantly than before, and then lingers across the copper face of his brother.
When she asks that he name him, he can do nothing but blink. He hadn’t expected to have to name anything, and she was clearly much better at this than he was. He nuzzles absentmindedly at the scruff of fur at his neck, quiet in thought for a long moment. “Tamlin,” he finally says, his dark eyes finding the sea-green of Wonder’s to see if she approves, but also with a look of almost bewilderment that they somehow had three children.
— and I'll make you remember my face —
