Stone Circle I used to think that silence was golden.

another woman, off for cobwebs. another man. dead children. living children. "cobwebs. comfrey. borage. poppy. i need those things," he told the accented woman. "she is hemorrhaging."
he pushed each of the living puppies toward a pack wolf. "varm them. breathe on them. keep them sheltered."
mahler turned back to the fading woman. "vhat is her name?" he asked gruffly of the older man, and when it was given, he began to nudge her face roughly. "sanja. stay vith us."
cobwebs for her bleeding. comfrey also. borage for her milk. a third-dose of poppy for her pain. the puppies would not be able to nurse until it was clear she would suffer no fever. mahler worked in grim silence.