Womb of the Wild: Rita’s Pregnancy in Thundarr Forest
The months passed slowly in the wilderness, where the rhythm of life was governed by the wind through the trees, the howls of distant beasts, and the heartbeat of something ancient and primal. Rita, once the sharp-minded mogul of Rita Enterprises, and Shecon, fierce warrior of justice, was now becoming something even more sacred: a mother again.
Living between the Cave of Falcon and her own hidden Shecon’s cave, she and Faro forged a new rhythm. It was not easy—life in Thundarr Forest never was. But the wilds gave them a freedom the city could not. There were no whispered judgments here. No Mr. Clown. No Cal. Only the trees and stars.
Rita’s belly swelled with the life inside her. Faro became her fiercest protector and most attentive partner. He foraged, hunted, and built a nest-like bed of moss and fur for her comfort. On days when the nausea and fatigue overwhelmed her, he massaged her feet, whispered stories of the Falcon legacy, or simply lay beside her, his hand over her belly, feeling their child kick beneath her skin.
She spoke to the unborn baby often, calling it her “forest flame.” She told it stories of her adventures, of the battles she’d fought, and of the strange love that had brought it into the world. And even when the guilt crept in—when she thought of Cal, of society’s laws, of the eyes that would judge her if they knew—she would look at Faro and remember why she chose this life.
Midwives were rare in the forest, but Rita had befriended a wise Pigmen herbalist from a nearby glade. The Pigman, named Hooni, knew the art of forest birth, and vowed to assist when the time came. He also gave Rita herbal tonics to ease her back pain and improve her strength, for she was still strong—climbing short hills, meditating under waterfalls, even training with her power boomerang at sunrise.
Meanwhile, Faro practiced sword forms and trained to become not just a guardian, but a father. In the forest, under the ancient trees and beside crackling fires, he shed his youth and became something more—a man determined to give the child a life worthy of the power growing within its blood.
Every now and then, Rita would retreat to her Pickadaily penthouse with Albort’s help—just to bathe, rest in a proper bed, and check the outside world. But her heart never stayed there long.
The forest was her womb now too.
And within it, the child of Rita and Faro grew, destined to inherit a tangled legacy of power, passion, rebellion… and maybe, just maybe, redemption.
The Birth Beneath the Canopy.
It was the season of Aqueon, the Month of Waters, when the rains fell heavy and steady across the Thundarr Forest, turning the paths into rivers and the air into a soft blanket of mist. Lightning, Faro’s loyal white steed, was tethered under the canopy, restless from the smell of thunder and something more primal—change.
In the heart of Shecon’s cave, beneath glowing crystals and the protective symbols of ancient Falcon bloodlines, Rita went into labor.
Faro had seen blood, pain, and battle—but nothing like this. Rita, fierce and glowing, gritted her teeth against each wave of agony with a strength that terrified and inspired him. Hooni the Pigman was there, guiding them with calm, ancient wisdom. “This child comes from the fire and the storm,” he said, as he laid out herbs and boiling water. “It will not arrive quietly.”
Outside, the forest roared with wind. As if the trees themselves were leaning closer to witness the birth of something forbidden and profound.
Rita clutched Faro’s hand, sweat dripping from her brow. “Don’t you dare faint,” she growled at him mid-contraction, her green eyes flashing through the pain.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Faro whispered, lips trembling.
Hours passed. The storm grew. Then—at the breaking of dawn—the air fell still.
And a cry pierced the cave.
Hooni held the child aloft—a baby girl, with a thick tuft of black hair and green eyes that blinked open far too quickly, watching the world with eerie awareness. Wrapped in soft pelts, she was placed on Rita’s chest.
Rita wept. Not from pain. But from something deeper—a release. She had walked away from empire, status, judgment, and even her own son. But in this child, born in the wild heart of Thundarr, she found a future.
Faro leaned close, kissing both mother and child. “She’s perfect,” he whispered.
“What should we name her?” Rita asked, her voice barely a breath.
Faro looked outside as the sun cut through the clouds, lighting the forest in gold.
“Sulira. She’s the light after the storm.”
And so, Sulira Faros was born—child of the forest, born of forbidden love, and destined to challenge the rules of the world that dared say she shouldn’t exist.
Whispers Beyond the Trees.
It began with rumors—faint whispers carried on trader tongues and passed around smoky taverns in Thundarr City.
A Pigman priest was seen traveling south with empty pouches, humming lullabies in ancient dialects. A ranger swore he heard a child’s cry deep in the woods near the old Falcon cave—too human to be beast, too wild to be from the villages. A D.E.C. patrol drone, illegally scouting above the forest canopy, briefly caught an image: two figures in furs, a woman with flowing dark hair, and a man riding a white horse… holding a tiny bundle.
But it wasn’t until Winda Wilow, one of Kestrel’s old flames and a freelance spy, intercepted a communique between Pigman tribes that the truth began to unravel. She brought the message to Mr. Clown himself.
“The Shecon has given birth. The child lives.”
Clown laughed at first. “Rita? Pregnant? Who’s the father—some tree spirit?” But his smile faded when Winda raised a brow. “It’s Faro.”
Clown leaned back, stunned. “Faro Faros… got his maternal aunt pregnant?”
“Yes,” Winda replied. “Turns out the whole affair is completely sick and twisted. A Pigmen priest of the forest legally turned them into husband and wife under the forest laws.”
The Clown fell back on his clown sofa and went “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA, OH FAROS FAMILY! YOU PEOPLE ARE MORE INSANE THAN ME….HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
And from there—the world began to stir.
Cal Faros, upon hearing the news, grew silent. His fists clenched. Rita had not only abandoned her empire—she had become something entirely other. A mother to a child from a man who is her own blood nephew and also that same man is the cousin of her son!
Kestrel, masked, resumed his silent patrols of the forest edge—not to strike, but to watch. To confirm. His mother had become myth.
In the city, protests broke out. Some saw Rita and Faro as romantic rebels, forsaking the corrupt city for a life of raw freedom. Others called for Sulira’s capture, declaring her an abomination born of scandal. Mr. Clown, however, saw something else: an opportunity. A child born of Shecon and Falcon blood… might be a threat—or an asset to exploit to his own advantage.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Faro and Rita heard the buzz of distant drones. Strange footprints. They knew the secret was out.
Rita held Sulira close one evening as the trees swayed under moonlight. “We can’t run forever,” she whispered.
Faro nodded. “Then we stop running. We protect her. No matter what!
