Barrow Fields i need not one thing more

the woman was brash, assaulting mona with a brisk statement and a sharp question. the mayfair, who had never before in her rather sheltered life been addressed so, found herself dumbfounded and stumbling over sentences that would otherwise easily come to her. "uh ... m-mayfair! mayfair, lasher's ... daughter. one of them. the last ...? one? i think. by rowan mayfair." the girl gulped a bit, shifting nervously in the snow. 
she hadn't a moment to consider what the woman had said about her own brood — but as the seconds ticked beyond their lifetimes, mona swept her scarlet ears forward. "rid of them? but why?" and here she flushed with a smile she could not hide, thinking of what she and her eagle had done, and knowing one day she too would look as this woman did, carrying children about, a mother.