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She tries to think back. Over the past week she has eaten, though it often doesn't stay down in the event it doesn't make her sick, but it's hard to remember everything. And before this week, the fairies and Rosebud and Jack might be able to help her sketch it out but she has a feeling -- a thrum deep in her stomach -- that food isn't the cause. The same feeling that says it's not an illness to worry about.

"I have but it's so come and go," she starts, "sometimes the mere smell of something makes me nauseous. If it isn't the smell, then it's the toss of a coin that I can keep it down. It really doesn't seem any different from most illnesses except that it's rather fleeting." The slender shoulders rise and she shakes her head. It doesn't make sense really and yet somewhere deep inside she seems to know.

She tilts her head, it seems a harmless question to get upset over even as it seems an odd question to ask. It seems impossible to gain weight when she has so little luck keeping anything down. The fur between her brows creases as she tries to answer. At no point in her life had she ever been concerned with her weight, or sentenced to watching it. (A few more years in the royal court likely would have changed that.)

"I, I really don't know," she replies. She takes the fabric of the dress she wears, paws catching it against her sides and pulling it tight to press against her stomach. "What do you think?" Although how Elizabeth would know... She looks at the other otter, eyes so very blue, and because it is so very slight, she doesn't notice the swell of her stomach.

Aurora's brow furrows. "Do you think Jack is ill?" she finds herself asking -- realizing what a foolish question it is as soon her own words settles in her ears. She flushes. "That was a silly question," she mumbles, a mere breath of sound.

There is a pause, as she maps out when last she had seen Jack against when she had felt ill. "Yes, I suppose so. He is my best friend and I do see him frequently," she says at last. A small voice sings that she does much more than see him but it does not show on her face. She has no shame in that. "Why, Elizabeth?"

She really cannot help herself, she laughs. It takes a rather long minute for her to stifle the giggles. And then for reasons she's not quite sure of, she begins to tease her friend. "Oh yes. When a male and a female decide they love one another enough to have children, they pray. If they are lucky, a beautiful white stork brings a bundle for them to raise."

It almost seems like she's being completely honest until the giggles rise up once more. Her paw flies to her mouth as her blue eyes dance. "I'm sorry, that was mean of me," she smiles. Then she nods her head, "I know how, yes." And yet it doesn't connect in her mind.

In fact she begins to move away. "At this rate, we'll never finish picking the berries," she sighs, "I know Fauna will need at least half a basket." It seems that it has all passed right on over her head as she drifts away but then suddenly she stops. She feels the crease in her brow, the press of her lips in thought, sits up.

The blonde cascade of hair lifts as her head whips around, curls settling over her shoulder as she stares wide-eyed at Elizabeth. Silently her mouth begins to move as though to form words and yet the only thing to come out is a single sound, repeated twice. "Oh. Oh." She looks a little like she might be dizzy as she tries to let the information sink in. Even then the deep thrum in her stomach seems to confirm it all. Oh.

She reaches out to her friend, paw resting on the first solid place she finds, because there are a million things to feel. The world seems to be spinning and she lets her eyes close as she focuses on breathing. She's horrified -- this result was neither of their intentions, she's sure -- and elated and not at all happy. It is rather like having the wind knocked out of you, she thinks, where for a moment everything is blurry and cannot be made sense of.

Eventually she focuses her eyes on Elizabeth's face. It is a bit more steady than anything else and with that she begins to find her balance. She takes in a breath and upon hearing the question, tilts her head. At first it seems like she might still be reeling, or that she's neglecting answering, but she opens her mouth at length. "More than once," she states. It seems almost rather anti-climatic, such an admission. And she doesn't seem embarrassed or ashamed or anything expected. There's a tiny shine of sadness -- those moments were something only they shared and now she feels a bit like it has been lost. Everyone will be watching her now.

She nods, dumbly, as she pulls in a deep breath. She doesn't want to lie down as she's quite sure she'd drift right off to sleep thus she sits, leaning ever so slightly on Elizabeth. The dizziness begins to fade although the overwhelming emotions are not so kind.

That's a fair assumption, she thinks, considering she, herself, did not even know but her mouth is unwilling to make words. There will be no living with the fairies once they know and she doesn't enjoy the thought of telling them. Perhaps -- a million ideas spring to mind on how to avoid them or at least them knowing but it comes to a halt.

"Elizabeth, no." Aurora is a bit surprise at how strong, how firm, her voice sounds. It isn't harsh; it is merely a command. She shakes her head, pulling back and holding herself up in a manner of regal conviction. "I will tell Jack. He deserves to hear it from me, to be the first -- or second -- to know. He doesn't need a lecture. It's not his fault or a crime," she breathes, wondering for a moment when her mother appeared only to realize it's her. It almost eases everything. She can do this -- all of these things she needs to. She has little concern for herself, she has many to help her should she need it, and there's the fierce determination that her children will be healthy, safe, but Jack does not have what she does. Jack has little else besides her.

"Please, let me talk to him. Promise me, Elizabeth, you won't seek him out to lecture him on this, and then I will go with you and find nourishment." It's clear by the look in her eyes that this is the one thing she will not bend on.

She wants to press the issue, finds horrid images of him being forced away playing in her head, but she knows that Elizabeth won't ever understand why the shipless captain is so important to her. It seems no one would question him on the matter; it doesn't sit right with her but as her stomach is no longer a tempered storm...

"Apples," she says without a second's hesitation. There were very sweet golden colored apples at home -- Golden Galas, though she heard them once called Aurora Golden apples -- that she enjoyed. Although the lovely pink apples known as Royal Galas had always been pleasant as well. She wonders if Flora could grow some trees that grew those delicious fruits.