Deepwood Weald smoother than a storm

At this point, Simbelmyne did not 'glow:' She wallowed. Her sides bent outward at an almost unnatural angle, she moved with short, stiff steps and huffed lightly with each breath that she exhaled. Her emotions ranged from euphoria to despair, and with ease she shuffled through them like a professional card dealer. A pigeon camera might have revealed insight into the tumultuous adventure that her pregnancy had been thus far- and now she wished only for the children to arrive.

She walked to encourage labour- whether or not it would work only time would tell. Her steps brought her to the borders of the Weald where she plucked her way along in peace until the melodic sound of a voice called for Dutch. She snorted, and her ears pinned momentarily. Who was calling for her husband, and with such fondness? 

She couldn't help herself; she steamed along, until she caught sight of the pretty nymph who had called out. She looked familiar- smelled familiar too, but Simbelmyne couldn't place her name. She flicked her ears forward but there was a catlike focus to her gaze as she looked with growing envy at the slender woman, envying the tidyness of her build. She too had once been like this- but now, oh how she bulged!

She looked to the small bundles on the ground, assuming the woman had brought them, and it tempered her ire somewhat to think that perhaps she might have come bearing gifts. "I am Dutch's wife, Simbelmyne," She said- taking some comfort in being able to lay claim to her man. "You have come to Morningside. Peace be."