(using this book, set timer for ten minutes and wrote a short story relating to the phrase “give birth,” edited lightly)
Henry stared at Callie. Callie stared back and grimaced. A small plop echoed through the chamber.
“How many does that make?” Henry asked.
“You expect me to count, too?” she growled back.
Henry shrugged and brought his foot to his mouth. After carefully sniffing it, he bit at one of his claws then began to lick the pads.
“Pay attention to me!” Callie hissed. Another plop.
He looked at her coolly. “You know the more of those you squeeze out, the more food I have to find.”
“Shoulda thought of that before you ate their daddy! Unh.” Plop.
Henry listened to the sounds of the tiny, squirming, hairless bodies beneath them. One squeaked pitifully. Already they were hungry. With one paw, he casually traced circles over his oblong belly, slid his tongue over his teeth, and sighed.
“Henry,” Cassie warned, “I’ll give you the damn afterbirth but you are not eating the babes. Not again.”
He smirked. “Like you’d miss ’em.”
Cassie frowned and adjusted her bulk over the birthing stool. Gingerly she poked at her womb. Empty, finally. She raised herself up and looked into the pot. “Seventeen, eighteen…twenty two, twenty three…”
“One for you, one for me…” Henry muttered.
Cassie swung her hips towards him and with a grunt dumped the afterbirth into Henry’s lap. Then she covered the pot with her cape and rolled it to the back of the cave where she wouldn’t be able to hear him eat.