Hushed Willows know the differences between the walkers and the sleepers

While she was a tad distracted, she did hear him, and between her own sounds of mild distress were some half-hearted chuckles. Once Tambourine was put right again, Octavia could focus once more on the dark man. He served as her sole entertainment, as she wasn't exactly thrilled with motherhood or over-the-moon about her son at this point. If she'd been a human, someone would've prescribed her some sort of drug to combat that rising tide of postpartum depression.

She latched on to the conversation as if she were trying to cling to a life-raft in the middle of a freezing ocean; hopefully he wouldn't sink just to save her ass, though. It's totally unfair. Octavia drawled, adding enough inflection to make herself sound like a whining teenager. I mean, you guys get to stick yourself in someplace, have your fun, and you're done. Us ladies have to get fat, carry god knows how many little dudes, and then somehow keep them alive. It wasn't until this point that Octavia clued in to her rambling. It might have begun as a jest, but by the end of it the truth rang clear to her, and she felt the sudden prickling of tears at the corners of her vision — so she feigned another pinch, and hoped that she turned away from Stark fast enough that he wouldn't notice the abrupt shift in tone and mood within her.

Octavia had birthed more than one child. Any normal woman would have had a full litter, but she had been blessed with two, and only one had lived. Perhaps it was too soon for her to joke about it, because she couldn't even face Stark to continue their banter, and had to pretend to sniff at Tambourine in order to hide her very real, very serious sadness.