Walks Without Rhythm wasn't fond of taking Knows No Better (or as Slide called him, 'that tortoise') in to the edges of the swamp to feed, but Meets-the-Sea didn't mind, and had agreed to take on the task. In fact she had been rather enjoying the excursions, of late, as much for the change of scenery (she had always been a wanderer, and could feel herself beginning to get antsy staying in one place for so long) as for the greater abundance of food that could be found growing in the marshes on the edge of the swamp.
Meets had been...hungry...lately. Hungrier than usual, at least, and feeding the turtle was a good excuse to feed herself. She didn't eat meat anyway, and the swamp grass that the tortoise ate was sufficient fare for her as well. It was at least more than she was getting out in the borderlands. Not that that wasn't enough -- Slide was very cautious about their stores and making sure that they were well-nourished -- but lately Meets had been feeling the need for more than her usual share.
At first she had put off this unusual hunger to simply not being used to the sparse fare of the borderlands -- but Meets was used to similar eating near the shores of her beloved ocean, so that couldn't be it. The doe had been pregnant three times before, and she was beginning to think that the fourth time had come upon her. She couldn't ignore the signs for much longer. But how to tell Slide?
The pregnancy itself was no surprise -- the two had been living together for months now, and Meets had supposed it would only be a matter of time until this happened. And personally, she was overjoyed to have Slide's children -- no buck had ever meant so much to her, nor, she expected, ever would. What worried her was the harsh conditions of their life in the borderlands, the scarcity of food, the lack of fresh water. The couple's little den was home enough for the two of them and their few creature companions -- but to add a clutch of foals as well could upset the delicate balance they had attained and possibly prove disastrous. If they were to raise their children together (and she hoped that they would), new precautions would have to be taken.
Lost in her musings as she munched on the fresh swamp greens alongside Knows No Better, Meets did not notice the hopping approach of a small foxbun until the thing fell, with a splash, into one of the deeper of the small ponds that made up the marshland. Raising her head in alarm, the doe looked around for the source of the sound, a piece of swamp-grass still dangling from her mouth. The tortoise munched on, undeterred.