Emberwood the black hills, the bad lands, the calloused east

it was strange to hold her through the contractions. almost as if he were giving birth himself, save without the pain. but in the absence of pain was fear, and it lanced his heart; the emotional turmoil cortez was mired in was nearly physical. he held her, though, and continued to hold her. feeling life ripple through her body.

mother earth, he whispered. gaia. she's ripped apart day after day, ravaged by the forces of nature, and she still gives us beauty. olive, i ran into a woman once whose time came early. she had a midwife with her, but she was so scared.

he'd never forget her eyes, those golden, round eyes—so suffused with fear. she was young and fresh and unblemished. the pups came without warning.

but she made it—and you will, too. the midwife told her what i'm telling you. it was messy and bloody and frightening. . .but when the morning broke, she was a mother. and so will you be, he almost added, except olive was already a mother. she should be old hat at this by now. this must be far beyond the norm, for his sister to be so terrified.

he rocked her, slowly, trying to keep his breathing deep and steady. you have to keep pushing, he urged her softly. i'm sure they're almost here.