Sequoia Coast [m] pineapple

All at once there was a rushing feeling, a building tension, and then it eased off. Never for long but always too much; like her body was not her own and it was restless.

He was closer, and Wilwarin burrowed her face against him. She had never experienced anything like this—not the hunger they battled together, not the pain of her body acting on its own, not the pure uncertainty for her future.

The young woman was reminded of watching this happen to her mother, and being afraid. Of telling herself she would never. Yet here she was, struggling and hungry in this place, with a stranger and not her sisters, and no village.

Wilwarin felt hopeful when the pain did not sweep through her again—but then it did, only delayed, not stopped. It was like a tide slowly creeping up and fading back, and this birthing tide would only swell through the hours.

She tugged at the man's fur, she groomed at him to self-soothe, she grit her teeth and sometimes pushed him away, and nothing changed.