night fell quickly with the kind of cold that crawled into her bones to rest. twitch curled tight into herself, spine tucked against the crook of a rock with her tail over her paws. she'd meant to stay awake, just for a little while longer—eyes fixed on the dark treeline, listening for sounds that never came. sleep found her anyway, somehow.

the dream took her quick. a lumbering groan, snow tumbling off branches like something had brushed them from below. the stink of rot and fur and something older curling in her nostrils like smoke. she knew before she saw it. bear. hulking beast, big and wrong. its snout wet with foam, its eyes pits of glinting amber. the kind of thing nightmares envied.

she couldn't move. her limbs locked, like roots had grown through her. it drew closer, each step a slow, purposeful drumbeat, the stink of it clinging like a second pelt. she tried to scream. tried to bolt. nothing worked. and then—

nothing. when her eyes opened, the world was… wrong. no less wrong than the bear from her dream. she shot upright so fast her head spun, dizzy. breath tore from her lungs, gasping for breath like she'd been drowning. but there were no trees. no snow. no familiar scents. she was sprawled in the middle of a vast plain of grass, tall and copper-tipped, swaying under a warm breeze she didn’t remember existing. the sun sat on the horizon, drowning the sky in orange, bleeding gold into the clouds.

no rocks. no forest. no bear. no home.

twitch’s breath stuttered in her throat. where the fuck—

her own scent was unfamiliar. warped, as if part of it had been erased and rewritten. this wasn’t the same world. this wasn’t even the same reality—it couldn't be. fuck.

---

Mauve then AW! near eastbourne

cole’s breath hitched the second he saw her.
twitch?
his voice cracked— not from pain, but from something deeper. like he hadn’t expected to ever say her name again. like the world had ended, and here she was anyway.
she looked all wrong. the place looked wrong. but she— skinny frame all locked-up tight, eyes like glass over fire, breath stammering like she was still halfway drowned— she was the same. his chest squeezed.
he pushed up onto his elbows, jaw working as his eyes dragged over her, checking for wounds. checking for blood. it’s me, he said, lower now, steadier, though his heart was trying to tear free. you’re alright. i got you.
but she wasn’t the one he’d called for.
winslet... the name came again, more fragile this time, spoken like a prayer to a sky that gave no answers.
his gaze snapped back to twitch. where is she? he asked, but it wasn’t accusatory. it was hollow. frightened. his body was still tense, like every muscle in him was ready to tear the earth apart to find his mate— but he hadn’t moved yet.
he was still caught on her.
his voice dropped, coarse as old leather. what happened, baby girl?

sliding in here...

---

just when her roots had began to spread, and just when she'd finally found a home, it was ripped from her hands. cruel, quick, blinding—bear claw was no more. she'd awoken somewhere strange, but more alarmingly, she'd awoken alone.

cole wasn't beside her, curled around her and cradling her within his arms. his warmth was gone. his scent was gone. all she had left of him was the life that had just started to grow in her womb. how could she raise children alone? how could she survive without him?

what would she tell their children, if she never found him?

just when she'd thought the gods had answered her age-old prayer of love and security and family. a dove without its lover, a bird without a nest.

she'd spent a fortnight searching for any trace of him. wandering aimlessly with only her cries and the ache of her heart to keep her company. desperate to find even the faintest scent or his prints; anything that would guide her back into his arms. that is where she belonged, and if she couldn't have it?

it was a dangerous thought. one she couldn't allow herself to dwell on, less she crumble apart.

and so she forced herself to keep moving, as every moment stood still was a living hell. sometimes, she swore she could hear his voice. calling for her, beckoning her. it was so, so cruel...

when she finally found him, he wasn't alone.

she barreled toward the two with a choked cry, a strangled breath of relief. the moment she crashed into his arms and buried her nose into his fur to inhale greedy lungfuls of his scent, she finally felt as if she could breathe. cole, her voice shook. tears wet his fur as her swelling sides trembled from her sobs. i thought—thank the stars you're alive.

twitch. oh, her poor, sweet girl. winnie draws her into her arms, holds her close and tight so that she may never lose her again. it's okay, she murmured. over and over as she needed to convince them both that, now they're reunited, everything would be okay.

i've got you.

she heard him before she saw him.
the crunch of grass, ragged breath—his breath. twitch froze mid-step, head snapping toward the sound like an arrow loosed from the nock. her whole body tightened, wind sucking from her lungs, chest caving inward as if the ache inside her would finally make her collapse.

“twitch?”

the world stilled. she didn’t think. didn’t pause. real or fake, she ran. collided into him with the force of weeks unspent, grief pent in her limbs and terror like a noose still clutched around her ribs. she didn’t even know if her legs were still moving—only that one second she was staring at him across a strange field, and the next her face was buried in his neck, half-sobbing, half-gasping as her claws dug into his fur like anchor points.

cole—you’re here— she breathed, and again, more broken, more desperate—cole. he was real. he was alive. wasn’t dead and didn’t leave her like a wisp on the wind. the tears come faster than she can think to stop them.

she couldn’t say it. couldn’t say what had happened. couldn’t bring herself to tell him the things that still burned behind her eyes when she tried to sleep, or tell him about the new scars hidden at her belly. she didn’t want to ruin this. not after finally finding him again.

she sobbed against his chest, heart hammering like a bird was trapped between her ribs. it wasn’t until his arms wrapped around her, solid and warm and grounding, that the sparrow smacked into her ribs enough to dizzy itself, slow down her heart. I thought i’d never— she choked. i don’t know where she is—

turns out, she didn’t have to know. family would always find each other.

twitch hadn’t even noticed her through the fog, hadn’t registered the weight of footsteps beside cole’s. but then there were arms around her again, softer this time—smelling of sun-warmed stone and salt. the kind of scent that made her feel safe.

“it’s okay,” winnie said, over and over, like a lullaby for something wounded and wild. twitch didn’t believe it. not yet. but she buried her face in her fur anyway, let herself be held. let herself sag like wet cloth between them both.

cole didn't breathe, not really, not until she was in his arms.
first twitch, then winnie—his girls, his family, throwing themselves against him like waves come crashing to shore, and all he could do was hold on. arms thick around their trembling ribs, jaw clenched so tight it ached. it had to be real. had to be. because if it wasn’t, if this was some trick of the gods or death’s last joke—then he wasn’t sure he’d come back from it again.
jesus, he muttered into twitch’s crown, his voice cracked and wrecked, arms tightening as she sobbed into his chest. i got you. you hear me? he shifted, dragging winnie into him next, his broad chest bracing both of them. you’re here. both of you. his voice thickened, gone gravel-deep with emotion he didn’t know how to show without breaking.
when winnie buried herself into his fur and he felt her stomach press against him—round, warm—cole went still.
his heart kicked like a mule in his chest.
eyes flaring wide, he pulled back just enough to look at her, to really see. a thousand questions on his tongue. but in the end, he just touched her face with a paw, calloused and trembling.
we’re not gonna lose each other again, he said, rough and certain, like it was something carved in stone. ever. his eyes turned to twitch, fierce now, sure. we stay together. whatever this place is—whatever’s happenin’—we face it as a family.
his girls. he had them again.

it's as if a missing puzzle piece had been returned. as if her tilted world had been righted. her only family within arms that struggled to hold them both so tightly. a smooth palm comes to glide down twitch's back, accompanied with gentle, soothing murmurs.

they were together, and that was all that mattered. both of them were her everything now; the center of her universe.

cole's whale-eyed shock hadn't gone unnoticed. how could he have known she'd fallen heavy with the stirring of his children? the questions left unspoken are palpable, and she offers a gentle smile in return. beneath the surface, though, stirred a nervous doubt.

stemmed from an insecurity she hadn't quite chased off. was he happy? was he upset? did he want these children that begin to kick inside her womb?

all questions that would go answered later, as right now, all she wished to focus on was the reunion. with a shaky inhale, Winnie pulls away so she may look at the both of them. i will never leave either of you. not again. we will get through this together. words spoken with a gentle conviction.

their valley had been left behind, and with it the loss and ache of former allies...but as long as they had one another, they would endure.

it was her time now to fuss over the both of them. feverish as she searches for wounds that need healed, all while nausea settles in her throat, only to be swallowed back. please tell me you aren't hurt.

cole’s voice rumbled through his chest, a promise she prayed would never be forsaken. stay together. whatever this is—face it as a family. it made her chest ache. after a long moment, she sucked up her tears and pressed her cheek to winnie’s next.

her scent was different now. she still smelt like her—but there was something new beneath it. the soft hum of life. she stiffened faintly, her breath hitching as she pulled back just enough to glance down.

oh. oh!

she wanted to be happy for them. she was happy. but it curled inside her like a sick thing, twisted and sour, because she hadn't come back the same.

winslet’s eyes searched her face, then began to scan her body. twitch bristled before she could stop it, the way a half-feral thing might when its wounds were about to be exposed. her posture shifted subtly—one leg drawn forward to shield the other, tail wound tightly at her flank, her abdomen turned inward. ‘m fine, she said, too fast. good to see you’re okay. the scars were still fresh.

scabbed over in places that made her stomach churn. she hadn't touched them. couldn’t wash them—something she’d need to fix soon. and through it all, it was the eyes she feared more than the pain—those who might see what she nearly allowed to happen.

so twitch pulled the seams of herself tighter, stitched herself back up and presented herself the way she always did. awkward and lighthearted.

cole wasn’t a man made for joy—but this, this moment, had hollowed him out and filled him again. twitch against his chest, winnie in his arms, and the smell of her—changed. the shape of her—fuller. he stared, not cruel, not stunned, just… quiet. trying to understand. trying to believe.
his breath caught. his eyes flicked from her face to her belly, then back again. slow dawning, grief-mixed wonder. the kind of look he’d never been taught to wear.
you're… his voice broke. he cleared his throat, jaw clenched like it hurt to feel. they’re mine? a whisper, barely there. half-joke, have unbelieving that'd he'd be a fuckin' dad again.
and then twitch, pulling back, her body curling like she’d been struck. cole saw it—saw too much. the shift of her leg. the wrap of her tail. the fear. his chest split wider.
he reached out, slow and steady, brushing a knuckle to the side of her jaw. didn’t press. didn’t ask. just let her feel him there. you ain't gotta lie to me, bird. not now. his voice was softer than gravel had any right to be.
then his eyes cut to winslet, something steeling behind the warmth. i ain’t goin’ nowhere. a promise to them both. whatever happened—wherever we are—we’re together. an’ that means somethin’. always did.
his shoulders rolled with a breath, heavy and aching. you two are it for me. always were.

had the moment not been so heavy with emotion, Winnie might have laughed. his disbelief—and what may have looked like grief—was natural, and the silly question came from shock. part of her felt cruel for not having told him sooner, even if their splitting up hadn't been intentional.

of course they're yours. her voice is gentle. not as strong as she'd like it to be. truth be told, she was still in disbelief herself. had been ever since she'd first awoken and had a deep, instinctual feeling she couldn't explain. she had just known, deep down, that her life-long wish had been granted.

a mother. she would be a mother! all those moments spent watching fumbling pups with longing, all the nights spent on gentle prayers—it was all so heart-achingly true. and while she didn't know what motherhood would entail, she was overjoyed. especially now, with the two pieces of her heart that would help her through it all.

they would be a proper, full family.

she doesn't miss the flicker of uncertainty that dances in twitch's shifty eyes. Winnie does not speak on it now, but she can only pray that the young woman know that she came before these children, and that she was here to stay. she would be just as loved.

her question is met with a lie, on as obvious as it is disheartening. Winnie reminds herself that Twitch needs patience—throwing a fit over her unwillingness for vulnerability would be pointless.

darling girl, let me help you. gentle as always, no pushing, no forcing. just extending help and aid because Twitch deserves it. Winnie would spend the rest of her days reminding her of it, if needed.

unfortunately, twitch's acting skills were not on par with their ability to see right through her.
cole didn’t react. didn’t scold or push or look at her like she was something broken. he just stayed there, solid as a mountain, still soft where it mattered. his voice folded around her like dusk.

and just like that, her throat went tight again. she blinked hard and clenched her teeth. her insides squirmed like they were trying to crawl free. her head shook once, as if trying to deny what he’d said without actually having to say it. she hated how her eyes welled at that. hated that it felt like love.

she pulled back slightly to give herself room to breathe, and to hide the flicker of emotion as it shook loose from her ribs. her leg stayed curled, tail still drawn like armor, but her gaze broke. the walls didn’t fall, but they were crumbling.

and then winnie, ever so softly, delivered the killing blow.

the groan that left twitch was half-mortified, half-defeated, a sound that came from deep in the gut. her eyes slid shut, ears flattening against her head in the slow-motion agony of realization. fuuuucckkk. when hazel eyes reopened, they stared at her for a long moment. the words weren’t a demand—just an offer. a hand outstretched.

slowly—so slowly—Twitch reached forward and touched her.

not a hug or a collapse, just a touch. a silent green light of her surrender. she didn't say a word, but her body leaned toward warmth like a flower toward sun, and the message was clear enough. okay.