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"Ginger?" Cinnamon's voice sliced through Gingersnap's stupor like a knife, jolting her back to awareness. Her body cried out in protest, insisting that it required more rest to recover from the strain of childbirth; her mind cried out in pain, intoxicated with the emotionless, griefless oblivion that sleep provided. "Gingersnap?"

Gingersnap moaned, burying her muzzle in the pillow. "Not yet..."

"Your cub's fussy," Cinnamon informed her, his tone both apologetic and firm. "You should feed him."

Reluctantly, Gingersnap opened one eye to peek at him. All it took was a quick glance at her exhausted and overwhelmed expression, and Cinnamon knew exactly what was going through his sister's mind. He sat on the edge of the bed and laid a paw on her shoulder. "I know, littermate..."

"Don't." Gingersnap pushed his paw away. It wasn't that she wanted to spurn his comfort--far from it. But she knew that too much empathy or kindness would only serve to remind her of how much pain her heart was in, and she didn't have time to weep or mourn. "Bring me my cubs."

Cinnamon blew out his breath and nodded reluctantly. He would have liked nothing better than to take Gingersnap into his arms and let her sob into his shoulder. There had been so many times when they were cubs that she had consoled him, and he'd never really gotten a chance to return the favor. He knew too well how independent and self-sufficient Ginger was, but even so, he would have been more than happy to let her lean on him from time to time.

Once Cinnamon had disappeared into the next room, Gingersnap sat up, stretching her arms high above her head to try and work the stiffness from her joints. Her eyes fell on her belly, and she instinctively ran a hand across it, as she so often had in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. She almost missed the sensation of being swollen with child. Yesterday I was looking forward to mothering three cubs, she thought, a single pesky tear dripping from the corner of her eye and melting into her fur. She should have been prepared herself for the possibility that one of her cubs would have entered this world as lifelessly as a shadow. She had only just barely been old enough to bear cubs when her Ordeal, as her siblings had begun to refer to it, had rendered her pregnant. As it was, she was a bit on the slight side, and her body was, perhaps, too young and frail to nurture and birth three healthy infants. I wonder who my little lost one would have become?

Gingersnap allowed herself a few more seconds of mourning before forcefully pulling herself together. "You have two perfectly lovely cubs waiting for you, Ginger," she reminded herself softly. "Plenty of time for grieving later."

But when Cinnamon stepped into the room, Gingersnap didn't even have to look up at him to know something was dreadfully wrong. "What is it? What happened?"

Cinnamon seemed all but frozen in shock and horror. "O-one of the cubs," he quavered. "She isn't--I mean, I think she's--"

It didn't even matter that Gingersnap was still weak and shaky--she was on her feet and standing over the cubs' nest in the next room before the pain even had a chance to catch up to her.

The first of the triplets had been too weak to sustain life even a second after she'd left Gingersnap's womb. She'd been born silently, and when Cinnamon had scooped her up to say hello to his first niece, she'd laid in his arms as still as death. Although the other two cubs had seemed perfect by comparison, they were both a little too small and a little too sleepy to be completely healthy. Now the larger of the two remaining cubs was lying in her nest as inanimately as her lost sister. This cub had managed to survive a few precious hours in the outside world before surrendering to whatever health afflictions she had been born with.

Try as she might, Gingersnap could not bite back the tears. She gathered the limp little body into her arms and cradled it, burying her nose in its fur as if the warmth of her breath could somehow revive it. "I'm sorry," she whispered over and over. "I'm sorry."

A moment or a year later she felt Cinnamon's helpless paws on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, littermate," he whispered.

"The first cub was never meant to be," Gingersnap gulped, trying to get her tears under control. "But this little one was a gift. She clung to life like a soldier for a handful of moments, and what did I spend those moments doing? Sleeping!" A sob tore at Gingersnap's throat and she gave herself over to the grief, allowing Cinnamon to wrap his arms around her and hold her as she sobbed herself into exhaustion. After a long time, he gently took the lifeless cub from her arms. "Wh-where are you taking her?" Gingersnap quavered.

"To be with her sister."

The box had belonged to Gingersnap and Cinnamon's great-grandmother, and it had seemed somehow appropriate to use it as a makeshift coffin for the stillborn. Now it would serve as a final resting place for both the lost cubs, and Cinnamon took great care in where he chose to bury the box--on a hill overlooking Gingersnap's home, next to the bed of fire lilies she had planted a few years ago.

When Cinnamon finally returned to the house, his paws almost as covered with dirt as his face was with tears, he found Gingersnap sitting in the same place on the floor next to the nest, her features frozen in an expression of numb grief. Even though he knew firsthand what a strong, resilient heart his sister had, Cinnamon found himself worrying that she would never find her way out of that labyrinth of sorrow she'd been stranded in. She didn't even look up until Cinnamon unexpectedly put the last cub in her arms. "You still have a little one to tend to, Ginger," he whispered. "Come back to him."

This was the smallest of the three cubs--a stroke of irony, perhaps, that the scrawniest of the three was the only survivor. His fur was just a few shades lighter than her own, with a vivid green highlight running in front of his left ear. His eyes were still shut, as they would be for the next several days, but as he sensed the warmth of his mother's proximity he lifted his tiny head and sniffed the air, nuzzling his nose up against her arm playfully.

"I promise I'll keep you safe, my little lucky one," Gingersnap whispered, kissing the top of his head. "We'll keep their memories in our hearts together."

Gingersnap wasn't sure how long she sat there, somehow finding comfort in the peaceful expression of her cub. When her exhaustion began to overwhelm her, Cinnamon simply scooped her and the cub up and carried them back to her room, lying her on the bed and tucking the blanket around her protectively. Gingersnap's heavy, tear-stained eyes drifted shut as she snuggled the cub into a comfortable resting place in the crook of her arm.

"What will we call our little survivor?" Cinnamon asked softly, as though speaking too loudly might break the brief spell of comfort the cub had cast on his mother.

"Prosper," Gingersnap murmured after a moment's thought. "Because someday, that's what he'll do."

Cinnamon kissed the top of his sister's head. "I'll be in the other room--call me if you need anything, okay?" But he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't. No matter how much grief she held in her heart, from this moment forward, Gingersnap would be strong for her cub's sake.

In the doorway Cinnamon paused and looked back. Gingersnap was already dozing off with her head nestled into her pillow and a few stray tears still clinging to her fur. Prosper was clumsily climbing up his mother's arm and eventually settled down on her shoulder, his red-brown fur standing out against Gingersnap's darker mahogany bristles. In spite of the day's heartbreak, Cinnamon found a weary smile tugging at his mouth.

Not that it would be an easy road to recovery by any means, but it was a comfort to know that Gingersnap had someone to live for.