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Shreya came waddling back with half the river, half the forest, and what looked like half a deer bundled awkwardly within her deer hide. By the time she reached the mouth of the den, her dark coat was freckled with burrs and clinging leaves, and there was a proud little brightness in her tired violet eyes that made all the trouble worth it. She paused there first, though. For all her size, Shreya did not simply barge inside. Not now. Not with Raisa recovering from her grueling birth. Not with those tiny, precious lives tucked away in the warmth beyond.

A soft chuff rumbled from her chest, low and affectionate, announcing herself before her shadow could fill the entrance. Raisa, dearie, she called gently around the fish, voice muffled and warm. It’s only me. I’ve brought some things for you, honey.

Only after giving her daughter a moment did Shreya duck inside, moving slowly and deliberately, her great body turned sideways so she would not crowd the den more than she had to. The scent of milk and newborns struck her almost immediately, and oh—her whole face softened. Her ears tipped forward. Her mouth trembled around the edges before she set the deer hide down with as much dignity as a bear carrying groceries could manage. She carefully separated the goods, nudging the herbs into a careful little pile, followed by the red meat placed closer to Raisa than to herself, along with the freshly caught fish.

There now, she murmured, almost cooing. Fish for your strength, red meat for your blood, and these little herbs here are good for healing and good for keeping your belly settled. At least, I think so. I’m no fancy healer, but I’ve been a mother long enough to know a few things.

Her gaze drifted, inevitably, helplessly, toward the newborns.

For a moment Shreya did not speak at all.

The great bear simply stood there, enormous and dark and impossibly soft, staring down at the tiny bundles as though someone had placed little stars in the den and trusted her not to cry over them. Her breath left her in a shivery little sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Oh, she whispered. Oh, Raisa…

She lowered herself slowly onto her belly, keeping a respectful distance, paws folding beneath her chin so she could make herself as small as a creature her size possibly could. Her violet eyes shone. Look at them. Look at your babies. A tender smile pulled at her muzzle, fangs peeking beneath all that softness. My grandbabies.

The word seemed to thrill her all over again. Her tail gave a heavy, happy thump against her butt.

I won’t fuss too much, Shreya promised, though the way her eyes lingered on each pup made that promise seem terribly fragile. You need rest, and they need you more than they need some old bear hovering over them and making a fool of herself.

A beat passed.

Her gaze softened as it returned to Raisa, and something older moved through her expression. Something tender... something wounded.

Oh, honey, she breathed, voice dipping quieter, as though speaking too loudly might crack the feeling in her chest wide open. Your mama would be so proud of you. Shreya had not met Blackfoot personally, but she remembered Akuji and Rajani talking about her. She could safely assume Blackfoot, like any mother, would be proud of her daughter.

And Akuji… Shreya began.

The name caught within her throat.

Just for a heartbeat, her throat closed around the dearly beloved name. Her smile remained, but it trembled at the edges, and a sudden, sharp pang moved through her chest as if grief had claws and knew exactly where to place them. Akuji. Her dear friend. Her almost mate. Raisa’s uncle, yes, though in the ways that mattered, he had been so much more than that. He had loved that girl like she was his own. Had helped shape her, shelter her, and fuss over her in that quiet way of his until Shreya’s heart had not known what to do with all the warmth of it.

She could almost see him, for one foolish, aching moment. The pride in his face. The softness in his eyes. The way he might have stood near the den entrance pretending not to be overwhelmed while failing terribly at hiding it.

Shreya swallowed gently.

Akuji would be beside himself, she continued, softer now, her voice thick with love and loss. He’d be so proud, Raisa. So terribly proud of the woman you’ve become. Proud enough to make a nuisance of himself, I think. A weak little laugh escaped her, fond and watery. He’d probably be pacing outside this den like an anxious father, trying not to hover and hovering anyway.

Her paw shifted forward, stopping short of touching Raisa unless invited.

And your father… Shreya added after a moment.

Rajani’s name sat heavily in her mouth. Shreya was not bitter about the man, but her relationship with him had always been... complicated. Shreya had not liked Rajani and she had not gotten along with him, either, there was no use pretending otherwise. Yet as she looked at Raisa now, curled around her own children with that weary, radiant strength only new mothers seemed to possess, Shreya felt something quieter than resentment settle in her chest.

A truth, perhaps.

I know your father and I… well. She huffed softly, careful not to let old feelings sharpen the moment. We never did see much eye to eye, did we? But I think even he would have looked at you now and been proud. How could he not be, honey?

Her violet eyes shone as they moved from Raisa to the newborns again. You did so good, my love.

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