Seaside Moors Maybe I should get to church on Sunday...

The prompt to move on was welcomed. She would be happy to walk alongside this woman, happier if she could leave behind the muddy, blood-rich memories of that hellish grotto, but that would take a long while yet. There were formative surgeries in Stryx's past that still clung to her like syrup, but this singular event was fresh, and it would linger longer than anything before it.

When asked about the specifics of midwifery, Stryx was unsure of how to proceed. She was hardly skilled in that avenue; her specialty had never been decided during her training. The only reason she had succeeded with Raleska had been - well, she wasn't really sure. The will of Askleipeius pouring through her, perhaps. The spite of her soul, more like it. She'd seen enough death. It was unfair to watch it happen again.

That shadow crossed over her eyes once more, flickering.

That is where my tutelage ended also. Months of patchwork. A little dabble with motherhood, at least the motherhood of others... My choice to pursue this vocation removed me from the gene pool, culturally. She was being verbose and it was unneccessary; but she could not stop the flow of words, finding a vague mirth within them.

Had she saved Raleska because she been in need, or because she could not bear the thought of children without a mother? Stryx could have let her die easily enough and assumed the role if it had been her desire. She falls silent, speculative, cramming such foul thoughts somewhere small.

Turns out, withered crones make the best teachers - and like all things over-ripe, the most bitter.