Qeya River time for dying

her scent was changing. the morning sickness came and went, and it went with joy. she had not yet told her husband of what she had become with child. children. as she had not yet been sure of how long she would come.
she heard her sister's howl. and she replied; i am coming! and she set off through the wooded area, over the logs, careful to not be risky with taking a misstep. she wondered what she sought— maybe today was the day she asked for a pelt? a sinew charm that she could weave—?
you call—
...
breath hitched in her throat. caught. she choked, however brief, upon seeing his furs. the same jaded look he carried, full of reverence and envy. but one that she had missed, longed for. but did not long him the same as she had when her children—
her children—! rhaegar. vaelion. aerythar. serenya! say their names!
she forced herself to swallow the rising nausea, her breath shallow. gjalla.
she did not look to him. not yet. not now. goawaygoaway!
the syllable carried all the weight of years gone by, of bonds once unshakable and now frayed. what are you doing here?
her heart pounded in her ears, the numbness spreading through her veins. this was not how she imagined their reunion, if she ever dared to imagine it at all. and yet, here he was—golden eye blazing, a silent judgment burning behind it.