Heron Lake Plateau [m] your hands can heal, your hands can bruise

It was working. Holy crap it was working. Poe felt hope swelling in her breast as Camilla locked eyes with her and stopped her pacing. Apparently all she'd needed to know was what was happening to her. Poe would remember that little tip to be sure, though she did hope she never got in the middle of something like this again. Poe loved to help people, but this was a little nerve-wracking.

"That's it, good, good work," Poe murmured, trying to soothe the woman, "Just keep breathing, you're doing great. Just breathe." And it went on like that as the birthing continued. There was only the slightest hesitation when Camilla popped out a baby while Poe was staring right at her face, which was all kinds of intimate and other words the Ostrega couldn't come up with at that moment. But she picked her steady stream of calm encouragement back up quickly, even though part of her thought she ought to go tend to the newborn since it was uncertain if Camilla would do so herself.

If it was even alive.

Don't think like that, she chided as she coached, trying to spy out of the corner of her eye if Phox had moved to tend to the actually living child or if he was still too preoccupied with the others. Another wave of hope washed over her when she saw that he had come to the little one's aid. Maybe this wouldn't be a tragedy. He was so tiny, though. But maybe. Gods help us, she prayed.