Herbalists' Cache the promise

we will do this without them,
a mother's rage; sides shuddering, morphing around a collection of warm dark bodies in a warm, dark place. there is a limit to her being—she is not aware of it exactly, but it is there and it is new. for a long time she was only the warm and the dark. there was nothing to differentiate brother from sister from mother—then came the big bang of one voice, two, scattered, sounding off for war. a man's voice, a woman's, a mother.
keep the men out—
she can feel herself turning against her will. reaching, punching, trying to stop it all, trying to stay here where it is safe, to avoid the change that was coming. it was too soon! it was too soon and she was not ready. she did not want this.
as the bundle of darkness drops from mother star, there is a frenzy; more voices, more movement, but so, so cold!
the caul is cut, and she is free. but she does not want to be here! she is soundless, this lump of blackness; slick and shining like oil, covered in the ichor of a new mother, she does not cry out, and only barely moves as autonomic function forces her to breathe, and little else.