	When an envoy of the leonin runs towards the encampment, exhausted from the trek across the dun savannah grasslands, having sprinted straight into gnollish territory howling for a shaman, one didn't waste time. Shamans weren't called for unless there was some sort of emergency, and Dhryn had quite a reputation for assisting not only his own tribe, but many of the surrounding tribes as well. So, upon hearing the lion's frantic yowling, he quickly picked up his staff, grabbed several bags of assorted herbs in various states of preservation, and quickly walked out into the open to greet the messenger.
	The messenger didn't waste time when seeing the ritualistic dressed shaman, naked, save for a loincloth, as per usual, and started frantically explaining that his tribe's most prominent breeding bitch had started birthing not too long ago but that the birth seemed to be going poorly.
	“She's . . .writhing in pain!” the envoy panted, his mane matted with sweat, “and the pups aren't coming out!” Dhryn's brow furrowed. The 'bitch' the runner was referring to was likely one of the leonin war-hounds – massive beasts bred from some primeval stock. They were vicious, wolf-like creatures used by the tribe as utility beasts: They were hunting partners, beasts of burden, livestock, and also could serve as mounts to carry the leonin into their frequent battles. They were usually the size of plains zebras, but their unusually large size usually led to a whelping fraught with problems. The leonin usually had  kennel-masters and shamans of their own to take care of it,  though, so why was he being summoned?
	The gnoll quickly turned aside, casting his bones and studying them closely. The leonin weren't always on the best terms with the gnolls, and the shaman was wary – but the spirits were clear in their declaration. He would go. 
	“Show me,” Dhryn commanded, and the pair quickly raced down the river path. 
A gathering of tipis and tents came within view. A huge hound was squirming on the ground in the centre of the open-air dwelling. Many concerned onlookers flocking to her with water and foodstuffs, but none quite sure how to proceed.
	The shaman stopped at the entrance to the large, spacious structure, constructed of the bones of something truly massive - a testament to the hunting skill of the leonin. Gnolls were scavengers by trade, living off of what nature saw fit to give them, but the leonin were true hunters, with the power to -take- what they wanted from nature - and other tribes as well. The fact that a gnoll was even here testified to the severity of the emergency at hand. 
	
	Dhryn's eyes fell to the canine - she was massive, even by the standards of her breed, much of that probably attributed to her fully-bloated midsection. She was several times larger than the he, almost the size of a full-grown horse. If she stood on all fours, she would be almost as tall, maybe even taller. Her short, tan-coloured fur had been painted over with numerous red streaks, arranged on her face and shoulders to represent ferocity in battle. Her swollen belly was also painted, a deistic symbol smeared across it. 
	The foreigner stood a moment, and cautiously approached the beast, hand outstretched, hoping that the leonin's breeding program hadn't addled the poor creature to the point that his shamanic animal empathy would no longer be effective.
	Picking up on the strange and possibly dangerous scent, the huge female hound turned her head abruptly and even interrupted her writhing for a second, her big wet nostrils flaring as she smells the scent. Looking at the strange, small creature approach her in the midst of the familiar tribe makes her feel confident he is not a threat (even if he was, the colossal beast was more than a match for the puny scavanger). She sniffs his hand and allows him to come closer, the bitch suddenly picking up on another scent and sticking her nose underneath the gnoll's loincloth to smell the male musk. Her nostrils flare one last time as she puts her wet nose against his tip and then briefly licks it, withdrawing her head and laying it back down as she tries to resume her impossible task.
	"That's right, girl," the gnoll said under his breath, taking a deep breath of relief, stifling a small giggle as her nose dug at his crotch. One chomp from those teeth . . .but now was not the time to be thinking of such things - there was work to be done. He walked around to the back of the hound, pushing her writhing tail out of the way to get a closer look. She had been in labour for a while: the fur on her hind legs were matted with fluid already, meaning her water had broken some time ago. But there was no sign of her pups. Dhryn gingerly reached his fingers in under her tail, sliding them around softly. The wetter she was, the easier his task would be.
	The huge hound whimpered as she bore her teeth in pain, one of the lion tribe tossing a big bone with some meat on it left in front of her to try and get her attention away from the sensation. The shaman gingerly snooped around, finding her lips, slightly dilated but not quite as far as they should be. The little ones didn't seem to be pushing forward. A drop of moist rolls down between her lips at his touches, her canine sex swollen and plush. His halfhearted attempts to arouse her and secrete wetness work to a certain degree, the pain clearly taking away most of the pleasure she derived from  the gnoll's administrations. The lion tribe looks on with a worried look, the warchief seemingly not present yet.
	Dhryn continues to poke and prod at her swollen, pained folds, pressing his fingers deeper and deeper each time, thankful that the hound was at least somewhat distracted from his advances. He kept a hand on her flank, rubbing and scratching her coarse fur as he worked his other hand inside, trying to feel for the troublesome pup(s) that were causing her torment. A mass of wet fur and limbs could be felt further up inside her birth canal, two little pups had apparently lodged themselves stuck as they both tried to push to get out. Their little legs kick without much conviction and they try to wriggle themselves loose very slowly. The huge hound bit down on the bone with meat as she panted and heaved, her large teeth nearly cracking the snack in two as she whined.
	The great beast was trying her hardest to push the gnoll out, clearly objecting to his advances. One of the pups would have to be pushed back so the other could be brought forward and into the world - not an easy task. He tried to keep the war-hound steady with one hand while reaching inside with the other, pushing the jumble of wet legs back inside where there would be a bit more room to manoeuvre. But this meant working against the mother's contractions, and the gnoll could feel that he wasn't exactly 'welcome' that far inside! "Settle, girl," he urged as he felt the pups begin to wiggle a bit more freely now, keeping his hand around the paw of one as he gently nudged it forwards, "found your problem, its okay. . ."
	A growling whine reached the shaman's ears. She clearly felt the discomfort of what was happening deep inside her, the sensations against and inside her cervix and womb displeasing her even more. The nervous lions surrounding the event tossed in a whole leg of a gazelle to distract the female, which partially worked. She greedily devoured the sweet treat that she otherwise had to work a lot harder for. The huge bitch's sloppy vagina seemed to suckle and push at Dhryn's arm as he explored inside. The shaman found the view from behind the gigantic canine to be quite appealing indeed - only his constantly-shifting posture prevented his arousal from being noticed by the entire tribe. He would love to bury himself inside the bitch-hound, feel her powerful muscles contracting around his gnollhood as he took her and bred her, claiming her as his own. 
	The little pup-leg he grabbed kicked and struggled against his hand as it tried to escape, but eventually his efforts are rewarded as it slid back inside and the other pup slid out against his arm. He drew a sharp, shocked gasp as a contraction rocked the beast, her birth canal suddenly closing tightly around his arm, forcing his hand against the loins of the unborn pup as it tried to slip out, forcing her to clench down in the shaman's arm, trying to expel it along with her first pup. He wriggled his fingers, feeling the pup's tail as well as its hind legs. . .and something in between, but with the sac in the way and without the aid of sight it was difficult to tell what, exactly.

	The war-hound howled as the mass inside her shifted, the two jockeying pups finally slipping past each other, one of the sacs tearing and spilling whitish fluid all over the gnoll's hand and up his arm. The shaman's curious little fingers eventually find a small gap in the little pup's legs through the hole in the sac, his pads pressing against a tiny little slit, encountering only a little resistance as a single digit works its way inside. He grinned to himself. He was penetrating a little bitch-pup before it was even born, and no one but him would know! He wanted to hold her there forever, pleasuring her in private, but that would be rather irresponsible of him, especially during such a hard time for the mother. He guided the little pup down the birth canal, the big dog stretching easily around both arm and offspring as the next pup quickly lined up behind it. He withdrew his hand, allowing the pup to slide freely into his lap.  He was astounded at her size, she was a good double-handful and then some, but there was precious little time to admire her, the next pup was already crowning! 
	The warhound's big, black sex leaked and dribbled moisture onto her squirming newborn, matting the fur on Dhryn's lap. He tore the remnants of the white, sticky sac away, and the pup's nostrils flared with life, the creature finally taking her first breath.
	“Is there someone here with the authority to bless the newborn?” The gnoll called out, looking around as he rubbed the mucus from the newborn's pale fur. “A leader? A kennel-master? Someone like me?”
	“The warchief is out on a hunt,” a pubescent male responded. The lion was tall, lanky, barely growing into his mane. “She went into labour just after he left, and such matters are normally left for his eyes alone, and those close to him. We thought we could manage . . .but we called you to be sure.”
	Dhryn nodded. “Wise,” he agreed, before turning to the crowd. “If none among you can call yourselves leader, than I shall perform the rite of my own tribe upon her.”

	He placed the newborn pup's rear conspicuously over his already-erect shaft, pressing her down on his lap so it looked like she was almost sitting. He knew that was a bit of creative fidgeting, he could probably manage to squeeze himself inside - she was certainly big enough to avoid injury, but it would be a tight fit for sure!
	The crowd mumbled among themselves and many if not all the women turn around to walk away, knowing that such things are for the eyes of males only. When one of the males tried to address Dhryn about it, another stopped him, reminding him not to offend. If the shaman wanted to 'baptize' this pup, there was certainly no one with the authority to stop him.  The pup sat almost silently, still trying to get her bearings, her eyes tightly shut, whimpering and wheezing as she took her first deep breaths. 	The second pup slides out next to the other one onto his lap in short order, the warhound's powerful muscles taking over where the gnoll's fingers left off. The new pup is male, and certainly had nothing to be shy about under his tail! He lifted the male's muzzle up to his own and gave him a kiss, licking the fluid off his face so that he too could take his first gurgling breath.

	The newborn male was placed beside his sister on the gnoll's lap, a further attempt at camouflage. The shaman did his best to remain nonchalant as the tip of his gnollhood managed to slip inside the wet, slippery bitch-pup. He pressed lightly on her rear, trying to squish himself inside more and more until he felt something in his way. The obvious anatomical differences between biped and feral made his task a little more difficult than normal, but this was to be expected. Given the current state of affairs, the gnoll's current view and the heavy scent of birth and arousal hanging in the air, it only took a few pitiful strokes before he came inside the newborn female, his ecstasy plain to see as he fills up the puppy with a dose or two of potent gnollcum. The newborn's immature pussy clenched and squeezed at the intrusion, the mating instincts clearly ingrained very, very deeply into her race.
	Dhryn's panting joined that of the adult warhound as the sudden, unexpected wave of ecstasy passed. The crowd looked . . .baffled, to be sure, but apparently a shaman was held in high enough regard that the obvious gaps between the lions and the lowly gnoll culture were forgiven.
	Suddenly a loud voice was heard, Dhryn's head turning around as a stately and dignified male approaching, flanked by two experienced looking fighter lions. The alpha male, presumably, walking over and wearing absolutely nothing but a feathered headdress and several piercings over his body. His heavy sac and fat sheath are pronounced by the the same red markings that adorn the face of the warhound, and his pink tip peeks out permanently. He stopped right in front him as the huge warhound still tried to squeeze out more puppies, the chief's eyes watching as his penis slipped out of the newborn puppy's vulva. 
	Dhryn froze. Had he been caught?
