Wapun Meadow she who doesnt hear

dawn was decidedly not enjoying the beautiful day. she'd struck out from the territory early morning, driven not by her usual wanderlust (that, of course, had largely faded) but by a restlessness that took hold somewhere deep in her bones and drove her ever onward. she pushed harder and went further than any woman in her condition ought to, and when she reached the meadow, the pain returned viciously. 

it bolted down her sides, vivid and quick and accompanied this time by a pseudo-contraction that had the hunter gasp aloud. she is still a moment, gritting her teeth and waking for it to pass. when it does not, she moves toward the creek, realizing suddenly that she's not alone but too occupied to acknowledge the stranger. she drinks deeply, hoping vaguely that water will balm the hurt.