Hushed Willows [m] high on the hill where the foxhorns blow

For a few moments it went unacknowledged; Reverie trailed after him, hanging back with Blossom and beginning to regret what she'd said. Maybe he didn't want children after all. And if she was honest with herself, that was for the best. She had never been made for motherhood. It was something she'd chosen for love of her first husband, something she continued to choose for love of the daughter she'd brought into the world.
She watched him start to mark their territory and wondered at that. This was something she'd never learned to do, growing up among nomads, and —
You're right.
Reverie paused, sent into a bit of a tailspin by her husband's rejoinder. So he did want children. She went quiet, thinking now of pregnancy; of her own with Blossom, and how difficult it had been, and how painful it had been to give birth. In silence she parted from him to mark elsewhere, brushing her flank along a boulder. When she returned it was with a thoughtful expression.
I want to find a midwife. Before we - She stopped herself, then went on without finishing the sentence. Maybe it will make things... easier.