Knox Morgan And Naomi Witt Novels & Stories

The pack, waiting. Morwen moved efficiently, dealing with the after‑part that no one puts on glossy posters. There was more pain, but it was… background noise now. The main act was lying on my chest, hiccup‑sighing and occasionally letting out a tiny, outraged squeak when the world failed to align exactly to their specifications. “Bossy,” Naomi murmured. “Just like their mom.” “Thank you,” I croaked. Morwen finished what she was doing, disposed of what needed disposing, and peeled off her gloves.