11-02-2015, 04:03 PM
Camelia is as prepared as she can be. The location for her labor is situated and known (a peaceful little corner secluded from the rest of the Gates, layered with soft fronds to cushion the process), she’s eaten all the herbs she can think of to help along her pregnancy and aftermath of delivery (herbs and plants she remembers from her mother’s teachings), and she’s found herself daydreaming the hours away (dreams about her daughter, dreams about what she might look like, dreams about Mast’s reaction).
Her belly is as swollen as Camelia believes it has ever been. Every twitch her daughter makes presses against the interior of her womb. There is little room for movement and it only proves that the day of delivery is steadily approaching. Uncomfortable pressure accompanies the dunskin’s steps and she finds herself resorting to lingering near her birthing place more frequently. Although any other time Camelia would be sticking close to Mast (perhaps to make sure he doesn’t do something irrational, perhaps to comfort him in distress, perhaps to enjoy his company after a few years away), she finds moving around exceptionally awkward and lumbering.
It is in the early hours of dawn that she feels the first stirrings of labor. The feeling is a sharp twist of her stomach, a rippling effect of muscles flexing, and an instinctual urge to find somewhere safe. Throughout the night Camelia battled with the ghost instincts of seeking out a protected location, reassuring herself that she is fine. When the first dramatic contraction begins, however, she finds herself quickly swinging toward her little corner. At first, the painful tightening is slow, with waves of safe relief between each pulse, but they grow stronger and closer together as she reaches the location.
It is as the first true light of dawn breaks over the horizon that Camelia begins pushing. The birthing process is quick and easy, and the dunskin finds she is moving through the process with much less anxiety compared to her first child. Her heart’s joy lessens slightly at the thought that Finner isn’t here to welcome his baby sister into the family, but she forces herself back into happiness. The girl is a pretty thing (at least in Camelia’s eyes; who knows about anyone else) and she finds herself marveling at her beauty as she cleans her.
Once she is satisfied the girl is breathing fine and isn’t shivering from the waning nighttime chill, Camelia raises her head to beckon Mast. She figures he isn’t too far away, but nonetheless she calls for him and then anyone else who wished to welcome the Gates’ newest princess.
Her belly is as swollen as Camelia believes it has ever been. Every twitch her daughter makes presses against the interior of her womb. There is little room for movement and it only proves that the day of delivery is steadily approaching. Uncomfortable pressure accompanies the dunskin’s steps and she finds herself resorting to lingering near her birthing place more frequently. Although any other time Camelia would be sticking close to Mast (perhaps to make sure he doesn’t do something irrational, perhaps to comfort him in distress, perhaps to enjoy his company after a few years away), she finds moving around exceptionally awkward and lumbering.
It is in the early hours of dawn that she feels the first stirrings of labor. The feeling is a sharp twist of her stomach, a rippling effect of muscles flexing, and an instinctual urge to find somewhere safe. Throughout the night Camelia battled with the ghost instincts of seeking out a protected location, reassuring herself that she is fine. When the first dramatic contraction begins, however, she finds herself quickly swinging toward her little corner. At first, the painful tightening is slow, with waves of safe relief between each pulse, but they grow stronger and closer together as she reaches the location.
It is as the first true light of dawn breaks over the horizon that Camelia begins pushing. The birthing process is quick and easy, and the dunskin finds she is moving through the process with much less anxiety compared to her first child. Her heart’s joy lessens slightly at the thought that Finner isn’t here to welcome his baby sister into the family, but she forces herself back into happiness. The girl is a pretty thing (at least in Camelia’s eyes; who knows about anyone else) and she finds herself marveling at her beauty as she cleans her.
Once she is satisfied the girl is breathing fine and isn’t shivering from the waning nighttime chill, Camelia raises her head to beckon Mast. She figures he isn’t too far away, but nonetheless she calls for him and then anyone else who wished to welcome the Gates’ newest princess.