Nova Peak Mäväh

set for the 8th

Evening is a series of bald cries. Fire, then freeze. Peace, then war. Flames licking down her spine, then snow in drifts passing her ankles. Too many contrasting feelings; at least with the aid of valerian she thinks less of the soreness and finds some sleep.
At dawn, another flare. She starts timing the waves. They are irregular, anywhere from two to twenty minutes apart, lasting a breath if not half.
The pain is searing. She should be more dilated by now. But the contractions are too uneven, and there is nothing yet accessible that can induce a birth.
She must progress on her own.