The Pile (G)
The night's chilly air blew heavily on Clarke’s face, erupting the curls out of her hood into maddening spins. Her cheeks burned red, stinging in the cold. Winter nights were merciless on the ground, scaring prey and bringing diseases, but the curses were antagonized by the most beautiful view Clarke had ever seen.
The first time the Sky Girl saw snow, she cried. She wasn’t the same innocent child that landed in a world of marvelous green. She was a woman with the burden of leadership and family, and seeing the purity of white reminded her of lifelong responsibilities. Her lungs burned at each breath, with the wind licking the space between her skin and coat. And cutting through the night, a lonely bird sang a low tune, bringing her to silent tears.
Tonight she didn’t cry, though the moon’s pale shine on the white ground painted a melodramatic smile on her chapped lips.
Clarke entered the tent with cautious feet, aware of the late hour. Fire burned high, forgotten, filling the space with warmth enough to shed her coat. Smoke escaped in cracks through the center opening, and the scent of candles and family embraced her.
She noticed Lexa’s purring first, deep and strong, a proof to her strength. Smaller, higher purrs followed, half buried in fur and skin. When Clarke pushed the curtain separating the main room from their private quarters, her lips cracked at the power of her smile.
Serah, their eldest, hugged Lexa’s knee as if it were her last breath. At nine, their firstborn was nothing like they expected and everything they needed and loved. Promised to be tall by her long legs, Serah was quiet and introverted, kind with animals and plants, and still frowned at strangers. She didn’t have Lexa’s dexterity with swords or Clarke’s talent and patience for healing. But the girl followed Raven like a true Second, thirsty for Ark technology, in a way that initially confused her mothers, though the entire family got used to small explosions when Serah was involved.
The twins buried themselves in Lexa’s hips, a mess of blond hair poking between furs. Jake, older by ten precious minutes, drooled silently over tanned skin, his purr the deepest of their pups. In sleep, his face relaxed from its usual seriousness, the fruit of being the quietest of all. Jake had the blood of a warrior and the stealth of a hunter. The little man followed Lexa to the training rings since he could walk, eager to learn what his sire and Heda taught him.
Clarke knew what being a Trikru warrior meant, and even though peace prospered under her mate’s command, war was only a matter of time. She shook her head at the thought of her son being old enough to battle and asked the spirits to protect him.
Aden, since coming to this world, had followed Jake like a shadow, though their personalities were as different as their appearances were the same. Smart and quick to laugh, Aden was good with a spear and fast on his feet, climbing trees and waterfalls with ease. There wasn’t a day Clarke didn’t have to disentangle the twins from fights, mostly between themselves and usually initiated by Aden. Lexa would laugh proudly, saying alphas had too much energy. Clarke, along with Serah, simply rolled their eyes.
Finally, the youngest, the three-year-old currently with a foot over Lexa’s mouth and a fist covering her sire’s eyes. Their princess. Born in the cold of winter and a friend of summer, the little girl tested her limits and those of her parents at every opportunity. After three alphas, Clarke didn’t expect an omega. Honestly, she was happy, because in a few years it would be Lexa’s responsibility to deal with ruts, and none of her pups would feel the pain of a heat.
Until Lumi came.
The only one with Clarke’s eyes, the little girl was more like the queen of the house than a princess. Bossy, easy to anger, and even easier to amuse, Lumi reigned in their household. Clarke blamed Lexa, though neither of them could resist the perfect pout Lumi could muster or the fat tears running over her pink cheeks when she cried.
Her small body rested half atop Lexa’s face, and if Lexa felt any discomfort, she didn’t show it.
Clarke sneaked into the wooden bed, the fur deepening as she entangled herself in the sea of warm bodies. She scooped Lumi from Lexa’s face and placed her between Aden and herself, with protests that soon died in tiny snores.
After kissing each forehead in a show of flexibility, Clarke pecked her mate’s lips. Lexa blinked awake, her lazy green eyes finding Clarke in the dim light.
"Hi," Clarke whispered, adjusting a head that bumped her ribs when she leaned down to kiss Lexa.
"Hi," Lexa growled, yawning at the late hour. "How did it go?"
"The patients are fine. Were you waiting for me?"
"The entire clan," Lexa joked, one of her hands resting on Serah’s brown curls. The girl sleepily nudged closer.
"Lumi was asleep on your face again." Clarke smirked, and one eyebrow arched.
"She must enjoy it." Lexa grunted and turned to massage her neck. "She’s getting heavy, though."
"They all are."
Lexa felt a kiss on her sore neck, shaping her mating scar. She made the tremendous effort to sneak her arm behind Aden and Lumi without waking them up to reach her mate’s shoulder. Her eyes blinked slowly at Clarke, inviting, and the omega muffled a laugh against warm skin.
"We are never carrying them back to their beds without waking up at least two," Clarke warned, knowing the wrath of waking pups in the middle of the night.
"We could at least try," Lexa reasoned, her lazy smile an attempt at being seductive.
"Sleep." Clarke kissed her one last time, and Aden mumbled at the movement above him. "I love you."
Lexa’s smile grew unbidden, a rare sight reserved for moments like this.
The family drifted off to sleep under the crackling of fire and melting candles.