Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plot except for Njeri and the cubs.
I'm leaving my love. For the safety of our children. I chose the worst time to get pregnant and didn't figure it out until my closet friend told me of what she thought. I knew I had to leave, my instincts were telling me to leave to give birth to my children. Whoops, sorry, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Njeeri, Aslan's wife and Queen.I have white colouring though it can appear golden at times. This is the worst time to get pregnant, we are preparing for a war against the White Witch.
I am leaving to prepare for the birth of my children. My friend has been sworn to secrecy about my condition. I hope Aslan understands. As I slowly slink out of the camp under the cover of darkness, I take one last glance at the large red tent, where my mate lay sleeping and continue on my way.
A few hours later
My fur helps me in my progress as I walk in the woods that are covered in snow. I'm headed to a cave that is well hidden from the enemy's prying eyes. I must get there soon. I can feel that the birth must start soon as a pain presses on my belly. I look on ahead, between the trees. Almost there, a couple more metres to go. I head into the cave and make for the secret passage. My children will be safe here until they are old enough. As I lay down to prepare myself, both mentally and physically for the birth, my mind wanders. Am I ready for this? Can I do this?. ""Stop it Njeeri, you can do this. You are a Queen and you have fought many battles. What's a little birth going to do?" I say to myself. And for now I wait.
I can feel it now. The need to push. So I push past the pain and my first child enters the world. I clean him and he cries out and breathes for the first time. Such a beautiful, innocent sound. I immediately move him to my nipple and he latches on. "Shhh," I whisper, as I gaze at him. He looks just like his father, magnificent. Fahari. "You will be called Fahari, my son". He settles and I prepare again for the birth of my next son. The same process is repeated. "Your name is Ayotunde". This means 'joy has returned'. It is a while before I feel the urge again. My body tells me this is my last child. I push. And then I clean her. My daughter. She is so tiny. I fear I have brought her too far into the snow. She doesn't move or make any sound. I head sinks as I begin to mourn her. A tiny cry and gasp grasps my attention. She is alive. "Shhh, Azizi. My precious." I move her to my nipple with her brothers and I curl around them. And now I rest.