Zechariah had vanished, but in that time Swallowtail had grown pregnant somehow. She had heard of the rumours of maidens and mated females alike conceiving around Starfall. She seemed to be one of them. Lord knew she had never lain with anyone, but here she was, bearing however many children. Bile had seared Swallowtail’s throat more than once at the thought of birthing a daughter who might one day be made Fenrir’s wife. She simultaneously prayed for no daughters, and for enough. If she couldn’t produce even a single daughter, Tarben led by Fenrir would destroy Sindri. She wasn’t about to let that happen.
The Water Queen’s contractions came on strong. She barely had time to pull herself into her den, her body working to expel the pups that had grown in her all the months of her pregnancy.

fade out, fade in

Swallowtail’s two sons, born after their sisters, were dead . . . and she was left with two healthy daughters, tragically beautiful. The younger stillborn boy, the youngest of the four, had eleven tails . . . eleven. Such a waste of power and potential.
She shed tears for them. She hoped desperately, as she tried to restart their hearts, that at least one of her boys would come back to life. But nothing can bring a dead creature back.
So she gave them their names, and, after her daughters had nursed to contentment, buried them by the side of her den.

“head down till the work is done.”