He's tiny. Unbelievably tiny and perfect and hers.
"Precious," she whispers, the back of a clawed finger tracing down a soft cheek.
Still covered in sweat and aching from hours of pain and labor, Inukimi ignores the handmaids fussing about her and lowers her nose to her son's hair, breathing him in. Her mother was right; there isn't another smell that can compare to this.
She smiles, pressing her lips to downy, silver fuzz as tears of gratitude slip down her cheeks.
Tiny. Perfect. Hers.
Her mate's celebratory shout echoes down the halls, and she laughs quietly, tracing an impossibly small moon. She probably has seconds before he comes barging in, that big, stupid grin she loves more than she'll ever admit on his face.
"Your father's coming," she murmurs, slipping her robe from her shoulder when he begins to fuss. A little, eager mouth latches hungrily, and her son calms immediately, one hand curled into a fist by his face while the other flexes against her breast.
Closing her eyes, she enjoys a last moment of peace as the heavy steps of her excited mate thunder from outside.
"What's his name?" one of the maids asks, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the nursing babe.
Yellow eyes open then, full of joy and pride, and Kimi smiles at the curious female.
"Sesshoumaru."