Page 51 of My Orc Has Big Tusks
We followed Sofia to a rocky outcropping, where the ground rose up to form a small cliff face. At the base, an opening had been formed by fallen stones. Sofia hovered at the entrance, casting her orange glow into the shadows.
Brovish dropped to his knees, peering inside. “Abagail?”
A low, rumbling sound emerged from the darkness.
I knelt beside him, aiming my flashlight. Inside, Abagail had created a nest of leaves, twigs, and her own wool. She lay on her side, breathing heavily, her eyes wide and alert.
“May I come in?” I asked softly.
Abagail made that rumbling sound again, and Brovish translated. “She’s inviting us.”
After crawling inside, I assessed her condition. Her flanks heaved with regular contractions. Sticks and burdocks matted her wool.
“She’s in labor,” I said, running my hands gently over her distended belly. “Early stages.”
Brovish crawled in beside me, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the opening. He spoke to Abagail in a low, melodic language I didn’t understand. She responded by leaning her head against his hand.
“She feels safe here,” he said. “But I believe she’s afraid.”
“Can we move her back?”
He shook his head. “Moving a laboring snugglethorn can cause distress. They believe the place they choose is sacred.”
I ran through our options. The cave was small but dry. The rain had lessened, but it was pitch dark outside. Trying to transport Abagail now could risk both her and the snuggler.
“Then we’ll deliver here,” I said.
I switched into what my father used to call doctor mode. The small cave became a delivery room with Brovish’s emergency blanket making a clean floor while I arranged my supplies. This wasn’t a clinic with backup and bright lights, but I’d been preparing for this moment my entire career.
Sofia perched on a rock near Abagail’s head, her warm glow making the place feel cozy.
Abagail’s contractions intensified over the next hour. I checked her vital signs while Brovish stroked her cheeks and murmured encouragement. Her horn bobbed as she pushed, struggling against the pain.
“You’re doing well,” I said softly, checking her progress. “Not much longer now.”
Brovish met my eyes over her heaving flank. “You’re remarkable.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
He shook his head. “With us both here, she’s calm. Most snugglethorns choose one birthing attendant from their host family. She chose us both.”
The weight of that trust settled over me as I prepared for the delivery.
When the baby emerged, tiny and slick, Brovish caught it. He cleared its airways and placed it against Abagail’s side, where she turned to lick it dry, her eyes soft.
“It’s a female,” he said, his voice thick.
Before we could fully admire her, Abagail tensed again. I looked at Brovish, my eyes wide.
“Another one’s coming,” I said.
The second birth went faster. A slightly smaller snuggler with a darker wool coat slipped into my waiting hands. I cleaned its mouth and nose, and it let out a squeaky bleat that made my heart squeeze tight.
“Twins,” Brovish breathed. “Another female. This is rare fortune.” He spoke with reverence, cradling the tiny creature with so much tenderness that my chest cracked open.
The babies, each no bigger than a small cat, nestled against their mother, nursing. Abagail’s eyes showed she was tired but peaceful. Sofia fluttered nearby, casting her warm light over the new family.
“They’ll need to stay here at least until morning,” I said, checking Abagail’s vital signs. “She’s exhausted, and they’re too fragile to move through the rain.”
