From The Inside

33

Not that Beorn was surprised. All children born from females of his kin usually ranged from one to two cubs. Ylva, being a wolf, seemed to do things in doubles. At most it was clear that both were suspecting two children, not four. This far exceeded things. Expectations being one thing exceeded, followed by disbelief, followed by a new pain threshold being reached, which was then followed by heavy sleep.

As soon as the fourth child had been born, which also happened to be the smallest, Ylva's eyes dimmed and she fell into heavy sleep. One which she didn't seem to wish to wake from. Not that he was surprised considering. As far as first children went, it didn't go great. One breech, one runt, and two which seemed to have no complications at all. Each child in turn may have had slight problems with being bought into the world.

"Cheer up," a tired voice said from his side. Beorn turned and looked down at Ylva. Half her face was buried in the pillow. The lone eye which was visible was staring up at him blankly. "No seriously, can you cheer up? Shouldn't you be happy?"

"We, shouldn't we be happy you mean." He commented and frowned when she rolled her eye and looked away from him. That certainly wasn't a natural reaction to have towards one's newborns. "Are you comfortable?"

"Not particularly." Came the stoic response as Ylva opened her eye and looked to him again. "However I sit. I'll ache and hurt, it doesn't matter." She smiled awkwardly.

Looking slowly to the crib which held the sleeping infants in, he looked back to her. "Do you wish to see them?" He questioned and watched as her eyes visibly darkened. Beorn had seen mothers reject their offspring before, it wasn't an unknown thing, he just prayed it wouldn't happen to Ylva. Yet...she didn't seem like the usual ecstatic new mother. His tactic was to get her to see their children, perhaps hold one, and then her natural motherly instincts would kick in.

She couldn't deny them, they were all lovely, and small, and so dependant on the two of them. Though he didn't wish to admit it, it was a sort of one sided dependence. They certainly depended on her a lot more than they depended on him at this point in their lives. "Help me up then," Ylva smiled slowly and sighed. Moving forwards, he placed his arms underneath hers and helped her to sit up. She winced and let out pained noises before sitting up against the headboard again. Beorn made sure she was well, as well as could be, before moving away. Reaching down, he picked up the biggest of the four, there was always one which was substantially bigger than the rest. Bigger or not, to Beorn the boy was still tiny. "Oh dear," Ylva said dryly while rubbing her chin. He sat down in front of her and looked to her with a confused look. "Here comes the arguments about names, again."

He snorted and shook his head. "Perhaps when you're more up to it?"

"We cannot leave them unnamed. That is cruel. They need an identity. Even at this age, they need something." Ylva said while cautiously looking at the wrapped up bundle. "Eh," she said awkwardly while scrunching her nose up as the boy was placed in her arms. She looked as awkward as her expression. At any other time Beorn was sure he'd find her awkwardness funny. But not this time, he just sat back and watched as she slowly relaxed. She got used to the small weight in her arms and better positioned them around him. "Oh...you are the smallest thing!"

"No, he's not." Beorn smirked and got a look shot his way. "Trust me, he's not in comparison."

"He's the greedy one, huh?" Ylva smiled and tapped the boy on the nose, he let out a squeaked noise at this and wriggled unhappily. "Please stop that," she practically begged. "Suppose there has to be one dominant child." She said with a frown, looking to the peaceful face in her arms she trailed a finger down his cheeks and even poked one for good measure. Yet again, he wriggled unhappily at this. Ylva seemed rather fascinated by the chubbiness of him, that she honestly couldn't help but lightly poke and prod. Only, her curiosity was the boy's early form of a pestering mother.