Treel is in the kitchen, taking a short rest after carrying in firewood, when a young, male coyote bursts in, a frantic look on his face. "Where is she?" he asks.
"Who, master?" Treel asks, puzzled.
"Where... " the coyote starts, "uh... Medara!"
"She went upstairs to visit your mother," the raccoon answers. "The others are next door," he adds, pointing to the room where the pregnant females are staying, knowing that the lioness doesn't like being disturbed when she's upstairs.
"Medara!" the coyote again shouts, then dashes out to the back yard.
"Who was that?"
Turning around to face the rabbit standing in the doorway, Treel replies, "It was Master Larr. He was looking for your mistress, but I don't think he listened to a word I said."
"I'll go tell her that it's time, then," the rabbit states calmly, closing the door to the dorm and padding towards the stairs.
"Time?" the racccoon asks,"time for what?"
"That Zee is about to give birth, of course," the rabbit grins.
Zee is about to... Remarra probably wants to know.
Tossing the book aside, the coyote looks up at the raccoon standing beside her bed. "And why would I care about what happens with a slave?" she growls.
"B-because..." he begins.
"Shut up!" she yells. "Check the fireplace, then get out!"
"Yes, mistress," he mumbles quietly.
Night
"Nngh!"
The moan quickly pulls Treel awake. He quietly calls, "Mistress?" but without any response. Fearing something is wrong he slips out from under his blanket, pulls on his pants and pads over to the fireplace where he quickly locates an ember. Then he opens a lamp, holds the glowing piece of coal against the vick and blows gently on it, lighting the lamp and filling the rom with a weak, yellowish light. That taken care of, he turns his attention to the female. "Are you all right, mistress?" he asks, going down on his knees beside her bed and reaching out with his right paw to touch her shoulder.
Suddenly her eyes fly open, her left paw grabs his right and she moans again.
"Aaaa..." As her grip tightens, and he feels the bones in his paw break, his agonised moan slowly tapers off to a silent gasp for air.
After what feels like an eternity for Treel, the coyote slowly eases up on his paw. "GET! MEDARA! NOW!" she pants, punctuating each word with a squeeze on his paw.
"Y-yes, mistress," he gasps, pulling his paw out of her grip. "At once, mistress!" Then he gets up and stumbles towards the door.
Hearing the door open, the lioness puts down her cup and turns to gaze tiredly at the raccoon. Noticing how he cradles his right paw and the agonized expression on his muzzle, she asks, "What did you do to get Remarra angry, this time?"
"N-nothing!" he gasps. "You must come, she is in pain!"
"Leela!" the lioness calls, then drains her cup of tea, gets up and walks over to the trembling raccoon.
Poking her head through a doorway, a female rabbit asks, "Yes, mistress?"
"Seems Remarra is in labour," the lioness responds, "I'm going to check on her. Why don't you take a look at Treel's paw? It doesn't look too good." Then she saunters off towards Remarra's quarters.
The rabbit disappears, only to reappear a few seconds later, busy wrapping a robe around herself. "Well?" she asks, reaching for his injured paw, "can I see?"
He gingerly holds out his right paw.
"Ouch," she mutters, "that must hurt."
Treel just nods.
Walking over to the fireplace and rummaging around she finds an inch-thick piece of wood which she paws him. "Bite on this."As soon as he complies, she grasps his paw in both of hers and begins to feel for damage. "One of the bones in the paw itself may be broken," she finally states, it's difficult to tell for certain. Your thumb and middle finger is OK, but the other two are broken."
"Tell me something I don't know," he hisses, his words barely distinguishable with the wood between his jaws.
"The breaks are fairly clean," she states, "and should heal nicely, if you can keep out of trouble for a couple of eight-days." Releasing his paw, she pads over to a cabinet and takes out a small bag. Dumping a spoonful of a greenish powder into a bowl and mixing in some tea from a pot left by the hearth and stirring it for a few seconds, she paws it to him. "Drink this; it'll dull the pain somewhat without making you too sleepy."
The rabbit has just finished with Treel's paw when Larr enters.
"The mistress is tending to your sister," the rabbit states.
"I wasn't looking for her," he admits, "only a pot of tea."
"I'll get it brewed up," the rabbit responds, padding over to the hearth and stirring up the glows there. "Is Zee sleeping?"
"Yeah," he replies, "the kid finally quieted down enough."
"Kid?" Treel asks.
"She gave birth to a beautiful male child," the female replies, "looks just like his father, except..."
"A strange, white stripe alog his spine," the coyote finishes.
"As big as most male coyotes, too," the rabbit adds, "which made the birth longer and more painful than usual. Remarra, on the other paw, shouldn't have such difficulties, particularly if the child inherits your size."
Yeah, right! Mo matter if it goes smoothly or not, Remarra will take it out on me. Again!
Morning
"Get up!"
Used to Remarra's not so tender way of waking him when he oversleeps, Treel curls up to protect himself from a kick, only to fall off the bench he's laying on.
"Oops, sorry."
Grumbling to himself, he sit up and looks at the raccoon female standing next to him. "Why did you shout like that?"
"I tried to wake you kindly, but you were sleeping so deeply," she replies. Gesturing towards the stew-pot, she adds, "Get yourself some breakfast, but don't make too much noise; Medara just went to bed after staying with your mistress all night."
"Oh?"
"Mistress Remarra is a whiner," the raccooness states with fervour, "and she took her time, too."
"You don't say?" he mumbles, padding over to the hearth and checking out the stew. Fumbling a bit, he fills a wooden bowl with stew and brings it back to the bench.
"You're not interested in the child?" she asks, puzzled.
"You mean that it's still alive?" he retorts, "she made it clear on several occasions that she would kill it as soon as it was born." Picking up the spoon with his left paw, he provides to awkwardly scoop up some stew.
"She is still alive," the raccooness stresses, "and unless Remarra wants to anger her father, that won't change soon."
She? A daughter? "How... What does she look like?"
"Like her mother," she replies, "unfortunately."
"Good!" he exclaims, then scoops up another spoonfull of stew and continues eating.
Puzzled by his reaction, the raccooness just shakes her head.
It is almost mid-day When the small bell rings, signalling that Remarra wants her breakfast, Both excited and apprehensive, Treel hurries to prepare her food on a tray -- finding that he can carry it by keeping his right paw under it -- then slowly makes his way to her quarters.
"You took your time!" the coyote growls when the raccoon enters her room.
"Sorry, mistress," Treel mumbles. Fumbling a bit with the legs on the tray, he places it in front of the female, then steps back from the bed while trying hard not to look at the bundle of blankets next to Remarra.
Noticing his behaviour, she asks, "Want to see?"
"Uh... Y-yes, mistress," he mumbles.
"Step closer," she orders, gesturing with a paw.
Uncertain about her motives, he slowly steps up to the bed.
Grabbing a corner of a blanket with her left paw, she gestures him to lean forward with her right. As he leans in, her right paw shoots out and strong fingers grips his crotch.
"Eep!"
"Giving birth is more painful than you can ever imagine!" she hisses, "but I intend to change that!" Then she squeezes as hard as she can before releasing him to fall bonelessly to the floor.
It is early afternoon when Treel enters Remarra's quarters, carrying a bowl filled with warm water, a washcloth and a towel.
"Didn't I tell you not to disturb me when I'm resting?" she growls, "or do you want another lesson in pain?"
"N-no, mistress," he gasps, shuddering. Stepping slowly closer, he nervously mumbles, "Your mother is coming down to see you soon, and I thought..."
"You're a slave, not a thinker!" she hisses.
Yeah right, he thinks, and if I hadn't brought the water, you would have yelled at me for that, too. When she snatches the washcloth, he gently places the bowl on the nightstand, then hurries over to a shelf to pick up her mirror, carrying the gleaming piece of metal back to the coyote.
No sooner has the coyote washed the saliva and tearstreaks from her headfur than they hear heavy steps in the corridor outside the room. Treel quickly places the washbowl, cloth and towel under the bed, then hurries over to open the door.
In walks Malarr, the master of the estate, with his mate held in his arms, a strangely tender expression on his ordinarily sourly face, her with her eyes closed, muzzle tucked against his chin and her slender arms around his neck.
The raccoon moves to bring a chair closer to the bed, but an almost imperceptible shake of the large coyote's head stops him.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Malarr lowers his mate down to sit on the edge of the bed and steps back. Another glance from him sends Treel scurrying to add a log to the fireplace.
"Well," the older female whispers, looking at her daughter through half-lidded eyes, "aren't you going to let me see her?"
"Yes, mother," the younger female mumbles quietly. Picking up a corner of the blanket with her left paw and pulling it aside, revealing the sleeping form of a small child.
Noticing that Treel is surreptiously trying to get a look at the little girl, Remarra's mother gestures him over. "Isn't she beautiful?" she asks.
Looking at the baby, the raccoon can barely hold back a gasp. Her tail! There are rings of lighter and darker fur on it! "Y-yes," he stutters, "she's beautiful."
Just then the little child wakes, uncurls and gives off a pitiful mewl. Casting a baleful look at Treel, Remarra growls, "Look what you've done!"
"He didn't do anything," her mother counters, "she's probably just hungry."
"Well," Remarra growls towards the raccoon, "go and get her some food!"
"No," the elder female states quietly, "what she needs is your milk. Hold her up to your breast."
"No!" Remarra exclaims.
"Yes," her mother whispers, picking up the child with her arms and holding her in front of Remarra. "Are you disobeying your mother?"
Glaring at Treel -- who turns away to give her at least a modicum of privacy -- she relents, opens the front of her robe, then accepts the crying child and lifts it to her right breast.
Soon the crying is replaced with the sound of suckling.
"Don't they look adorable?"
Realising that the question is meant for him, the raccoon turns around, to see Remarra with a strangely contented look on her face. Is she smiling? Not daring to speak up, he just nods slowly.
"Why don't you go and find Medara now?" the elder female asks. "It's time to learn about diapers."
Evening.
Treel is in the kitchen, preparing a tray with Remarra's dinner, when the lioness enters. She looks him over, then asks, "Is that for Remarra?"
"Yes," he replies, "mistress."
"I'll handle it," the large female states, "you have a more important task."
More important?
"Prepare another tray," the lioness orders, "but this time with only the best and most tender cuts and bring it upstairs."
Upstairs? B-but... "Yes, mistress."
A few minutes later, clad in his clean clothes and carrying a tray, Treel stops before a door on the top floor and takes a deep breath to calm himself, then slowly pushes it open with his elbow. Stepping inside, he closes the door, using his elbow again, then walks slowly across the carpeted floor to the side of the large bed. "Mistress," he whispers, afraid to wake the female laying with her eyes closed among the many pillows and blankets.
"You puzzle me," the female whispers. Then, opening her eyes and sitting up, she smiles and gestures for him to place the tray on the bed.
Setting down the tray and taking a step back, he asks quietly, "How so, mistress?"
"You were happy to hear the child looked like her mother," the coyote states. Spearing a piece of roast with her fork and lifting it to her muzzle, she looks at him and asks, "Why is that? Don't you want her to look like you?"
How did she know that? The only one who knew was... Not certain how to explain himself, Treel waits for several minutes, watching the female slowly eat her dinner.
"Well?"
"W-what will happen to her?" he asks, nervously.
"Neither she nor that adorable grandson will end up in the pens, if that's what you're worried about."
"Thank you, mistress!" he exclaims.
"But you still haven't answered my question," she states. "I could ask my mate to force the answer out of you, but you don't want that, do you?"
Her mate... force... No! "It was something your mate once said," he begins, "that I was born a slave and would die as one, but she... isn't a slave. She will be able to do things, go places, decide for herself. If she looked like a raccoon, what then?"
"Not only cute, but you're smart, also," the coyote comments. Then, pushing the tray forward, she lies back again. "You can take the empty tray down now."
Empty? B-but there's a large piece of roast still on the plate?
"Go now," the coyote whispers, "I need my rest; it has been a very tiring day."