Nova Peak dearly

A hand, his hand, suddenly in her’s. Ayovi gasps and over a rise of convulsing agony guides his palm low between her first and second teats, beneath where their children slept. Her flesh rolls. Birth plans, prayers, blueprints, abandoned. Head now too heavy to lift from the stone, pounding visions through her mind’s attempts to think objectively. 
Their newborn flesh would know mother’s blood, but the huntress would not labor without reward. She looks up and through the dark finds the burning eyes of her universe, stricken in torment. Ayovi trusted such frailty to no gods, no healers, to none but Skorpa.
“Here,” her voice wavers, the swell tightening beneath their twined paws. “They… they need you.”
I need you.