Summer 63rd, 514 A.V.
Ireth gritted her teeth against the pain. Her fingers dug into the naked mattress, her knuckles white as ashen snow. The blood had drained from her face. The midwife had tied Ireth’s long hair back, but there had been strays that plastered themselves against the busker’s clammy skin. The shooting pangs were so strong, there had been no way for Ireth to prepare for something like this. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She had shut her eyes a while ago, but that did nothing to keep the pain away.
The midwife was a friend of Tynibi’s, though at the moment Ireth had quite forgotten her name. Tynibi herself sat on the side of Ireth’s bed. Her face was drawn and sullen, though her voice was still comforting. She hadn’t left Ireth’s apartment in three days, having spent the nights on a pallet in the apartment of Ire’s apartment. It was Tynibi that had kept Ireth from breaking down, who had called for the midwife, who had done all she could to prepare Ireth for what was to come.
The birth of Ireth’s child.
Ireth arched her back and screamed. Tynibi took the young girl’s hand and squeezed, ignoring the harsh grip that Ireth had on her. This wasn’t the older woman’s first ride. She’d sat through many births, and had had her sister in law there for the birth of Nya. It was almost part of a woman’s way, to be there for her friends during the birth of children.
The busker grunted and started crying. Tynibi glanced at the midwife, who was bustling around collecting things. First came the bowl of water, a tad over room temperature from being heated up over the stove. Then there were rags, both wet and dry. The midwife had drawn a blanket up and laid it over Ireth’s stomach and knees to keep her from watching the midwife work beneath her. The women had taken the rest of the sheets from Ire’s bed to keep them from becoming soaked with the birthing blood.
Tynibi ran a cool cloth over the younger girl’s face. The shopkeeper had been older than most by the time she’d had her child. And there weren’t too many woman that had had their first child any later than Ireth. None of that stopped Tynibi from thinking that her young friend was too young to be in jaws of the sometimes unbearable pain that was childbirth. It had been nearly three bells since Ire had opened her eyes, though she could see the girl’s eyes flickering back and forth beneath her eyelids. “You’re doing great sweetheart. Don’t cry, you’re doing great.” But the tears continued to pour forth.
“How’s it coming Grace?” The midwife wiped her own sweat away and nodded firmly, her mouth a thin line.
“She’s seven inches yet. The bleeding is little, but the contractions are slowing again. I feel as though you and I are going to have a long afternoon old girl. Though I don’t expect it to last through the night, she’s doing exceptionally well. It’s up to the child now.” The top of the child’s head was probably visible now, but the cervix had to be near ten inches before the baby began emerging from the busker's womb.
Tynibi nodded and clenched Ireth’s hand again, allowing her mind to wander a bit while she ran her hand soothingly along the back of Ireth’s.
Ireth didn’t have a significant other around to worry about her during the birth. Tynibi doubted Savio even realized it had been three seasons since he had slept with the busker. When it had come time for Nya to be born, Oire had closed down the shop and paced the room next to Tynibi’s all the time she’d been in labor, along with his sister, his mother, and Tynibi’s mother. Grace had officiated Nya’s birth as well, but Tynibi had had it worse than little Ireth. Tynibi’s contractions had gone on for sixteen bells before Nya decided to come into the world. Tynibi had been feeble from not eating solid foods because of her weak stomach, and that had affected the ease of the birth. And through the thin walls of Grace’s house, Tynibi had been able to hear Oire weep whenever she moaned or yelled out.
But other than the Mirilinds, and that young Toan fellow, there was no one here for Ireth.
Tynibi doubted the poor girl’s mother knew about any of this. To the best of her knowledge, Ire had sent but one letter home. Tynibi’s mother had been through every step of Tynibi’s pregnancy with her: she’d been one of the first people to know, had guided Tynibi through all the best foods to eat and the appropriate activities to partake in, and had passed along a good amount of handed down clothing that Tynibi and her siblings had once worn. Ireth didn’t have that. Her mother was all the way in Ravok, worrying perhaps about her daughter but nonetheless oblivious to the fact that she was missing out on such a big part of her only daughter’s life. Ireth had told Tynibi time and time again about her five older brothers, some of which had children. But this was Birine’s only daughter.
Watching Ireth’s cringing face, Birine felt just as motherly over her young friend as she did over Nya. Since that first day that Ireth had stepped into the clothing shop, she’d felt the need to protect and watch over this innocent flower.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Grace, who placed a warm cup in Tynibi’s hands. “Besides rations, the girl has a whole pound of tea. Here, drink. It’ll do you good, you’re looking a bit haggard.” The shopkeeper blew away the steam and drank gratefully, letting the warmth soak into her chest and stomach.
There was no window in the bedroom, and the single window in the living room of Ireth’s little apartment did little to circulate the moist air. It was late summer, and though the sea cooled the region considerably, it was still hotter than an oven. Tynibi ran the cool rag over the busker’s face again. Taking a jug from the bedside table, she dribbled a little into Ireth’s panting mouth.
The midwife was a friend of Tynibi’s, though at the moment Ireth had quite forgotten her name. Tynibi herself sat on the side of Ireth’s bed. Her face was drawn and sullen, though her voice was still comforting. She hadn’t left Ireth’s apartment in three days, having spent the nights on a pallet in the apartment of Ire’s apartment. It was Tynibi that had kept Ireth from breaking down, who had called for the midwife, who had done all she could to prepare Ireth for what was to come.
The birth of Ireth’s child.
Ireth arched her back and screamed. Tynibi took the young girl’s hand and squeezed, ignoring the harsh grip that Ireth had on her. This wasn’t the older woman’s first ride. She’d sat through many births, and had had her sister in law there for the birth of Nya. It was almost part of a woman’s way, to be there for her friends during the birth of children.
The busker grunted and started crying. Tynibi glanced at the midwife, who was bustling around collecting things. First came the bowl of water, a tad over room temperature from being heated up over the stove. Then there were rags, both wet and dry. The midwife had drawn a blanket up and laid it over Ireth’s stomach and knees to keep her from watching the midwife work beneath her. The women had taken the rest of the sheets from Ire’s bed to keep them from becoming soaked with the birthing blood.
Tynibi ran a cool cloth over the younger girl’s face. The shopkeeper had been older than most by the time she’d had her child. And there weren’t too many woman that had had their first child any later than Ireth. None of that stopped Tynibi from thinking that her young friend was too young to be in jaws of the sometimes unbearable pain that was childbirth. It had been nearly three bells since Ire had opened her eyes, though she could see the girl’s eyes flickering back and forth beneath her eyelids. “You’re doing great sweetheart. Don’t cry, you’re doing great.” But the tears continued to pour forth.
“How’s it coming Grace?” The midwife wiped her own sweat away and nodded firmly, her mouth a thin line.
“She’s seven inches yet. The bleeding is little, but the contractions are slowing again. I feel as though you and I are going to have a long afternoon old girl. Though I don’t expect it to last through the night, she’s doing exceptionally well. It’s up to the child now.” The top of the child’s head was probably visible now, but the cervix had to be near ten inches before the baby began emerging from the busker's womb.
Tynibi nodded and clenched Ireth’s hand again, allowing her mind to wander a bit while she ran her hand soothingly along the back of Ireth’s.
Ireth didn’t have a significant other around to worry about her during the birth. Tynibi doubted Savio even realized it had been three seasons since he had slept with the busker. When it had come time for Nya to be born, Oire had closed down the shop and paced the room next to Tynibi’s all the time she’d been in labor, along with his sister, his mother, and Tynibi’s mother. Grace had officiated Nya’s birth as well, but Tynibi had had it worse than little Ireth. Tynibi’s contractions had gone on for sixteen bells before Nya decided to come into the world. Tynibi had been feeble from not eating solid foods because of her weak stomach, and that had affected the ease of the birth. And through the thin walls of Grace’s house, Tynibi had been able to hear Oire weep whenever she moaned or yelled out.
But other than the Mirilinds, and that young Toan fellow, there was no one here for Ireth.
Tynibi doubted the poor girl’s mother knew about any of this. To the best of her knowledge, Ire had sent but one letter home. Tynibi’s mother had been through every step of Tynibi’s pregnancy with her: she’d been one of the first people to know, had guided Tynibi through all the best foods to eat and the appropriate activities to partake in, and had passed along a good amount of handed down clothing that Tynibi and her siblings had once worn. Ireth didn’t have that. Her mother was all the way in Ravok, worrying perhaps about her daughter but nonetheless oblivious to the fact that she was missing out on such a big part of her only daughter’s life. Ireth had told Tynibi time and time again about her five older brothers, some of which had children. But this was Birine’s only daughter.
Watching Ireth’s cringing face, Birine felt just as motherly over her young friend as she did over Nya. Since that first day that Ireth had stepped into the clothing shop, she’d felt the need to protect and watch over this innocent flower.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Grace, who placed a warm cup in Tynibi’s hands. “Besides rations, the girl has a whole pound of tea. Here, drink. It’ll do you good, you’re looking a bit haggard.” The shopkeeper blew away the steam and drank gratefully, letting the warmth soak into her chest and stomach.
There was no window in the bedroom, and the single window in the living room of Ireth’s little apartment did little to circulate the moist air. It was late summer, and though the sea cooled the region considerably, it was still hotter than an oven. Tynibi ran the cool rag over the busker’s face again. Taking a jug from the bedside table, she dribbled a little into Ireth’s panting mouth.
