Sun Mote Copse "Eins, zwei, drei ... Ugh, I do not think we brought enough body bags."

Giana, obviously, didn't want to be doing this. The man -- and especially the strange and unnerving bag in his jaws -- was weird and so was his accent, so conflicting with her own soft, graceful Italian one. The ivory woman jerked her head roughly at him to follow, waddling stalking into the Copse without a plan in the world to say more than she absolutely had to. This was business, a favor to Eshamun -- when his voice clashed in her ears, she glanced distastefully and, more importantly, mistrustfully with her stormy gaze. 

                                 "Fine. Where did you learn about medicine?"

Some part of her knew that she should tell him about the painful aches in her belly, ones she hadn't had the first time she was pregnant -- this, of course, could only be indicated by the very slight hesitation before her cold words--, but he was a stranger. Strangers were not to be trusted, especially not when it came to her children's lives.