Sequoia Coast [m] pineapple

One more came sliding from her, but she didn't feel it now, she didn't see it; the sound of the man's voice helped ease her through further turmoil and then she was utterly exhausted.

There were still more to come, she knew it—she could feel them; but with the release of the three previous, Wilwarin felt something ease inside of her body. She did not scratch or kick now. Breath came frantically from her, and her rounded sides undulated with this panting. Otherwise, her body appeared to relent in its forceful ejection of those it carried.

This third child—a girl—looked perfectly formed. She needed cleaning, and Wilwarin did not have the heart to look at her let alone help her. The smallest mewl crept from her mouth before she too was gone.

Wilwarin curled in on herself, rejecting the man's touch while she sank in to the reprieve of her body's exhaustion. The dream—he had spoken of the dream, of dancing—and she was slipping to sleep now, hardly able to keep her eyes open. The shelter reeked of afterbirth and blood; but the trials had not yet ended.

Those that remained unborn refused to move now, and the ordeal had wholly incapacitated Wilwarin.