55th of Fall
"Ife, please be careful and slow down." Mea Windstride said with mild aggravation, giving her daughter a weighted stare as they passed each other outside the family pavillion.
The redhead flashed an apologetic glance to the older woman, but as soon as she knew Mea's back was turned, Ife quickened her steps yet again, picking up the skirts of her dress and breaking into a trot. She had never been the type of woman to take her time, preferring instead to hurry her days away rather than allowing them to drift by.
And indeed, today was one that deserved to be hurried. One of her father's prized mares was in the laborious process of giving birth, hurtling the entire Windstride pavillion into a flurry of panic and a family-wide search for blankets.
It was an exciting time, but for Ife any birth was an intimidating affair. Out of her two mothers, single sister and two sisters-in-law, she was the only adult female Windstride member to have not experienced childbirth personally. She had not felt that overwhelming wave of love gush over her those after agonising bells of discomfort and labour. As such, all she could see when it came to birth was a lack of sleep, pain, and - perhaps worse of all - stretch marks. And yet despite it all, Ife found herself itching with the desire to experience it all herself.
I must be a masochist.
"Ife! What did I just tell you? You know how clumsy you can be."
Again the Inarta's pace broke, but this time she reasoned with herself that it was because of the pile of blankets she was carrying, rather than her mother's warning. "Sorry, mother." She mumbled sullenly, her freckled skin flushing with mild humiliation.
Mea reached out in an attempt to pacify her youngest child out of her brewing sulk. But as her fingers brushed Ife's shoulder, the silver-haired Drykas stumbled, her feet tripping over something, or perhaps nothing at all. Mother and daughter collided together, but thankfully the former remained upright. The redhead, however, went hurtling downwards, her arms flung outwards in an instinctive act of protecting her face and head from the inevitable fall.
The blankets landed with a dull thud. The redhead landed with a pained grunt and a fracturing of some tiny indiscriminate bone in her foot. Pain exploded through her left leg, shooting through her nerves up to her kneecap. She yelled out in agony, hot tears instantly springing to her eyes. Ife had fallen over many times in her life (Mea's statement about her clumsiness had not arisen out of nowhere), but her previous trips and stumbles had never resulted in such immediate pain. Something was wrong, damaged -- she knew it.
"Doctor." She groaned out to Mea, who had dropped to her knees the micro-tick her daughter had fallen down. Her mother's hands were brushing her hair, touching her face. Mea was no healer - she had no real clue how to help Ife - but her desire to bring comfort to her child begged the woman to do something, anything. Ife's hands flew through the air: Hurry. Now. Broken, she claimed desperately.
With a stern nod, Mea rose to her feet and hurried out of the pavillion to search of someone far more suited to caring for her injured daughter.
"Ife, please be careful and slow down." Mea Windstride said with mild aggravation, giving her daughter a weighted stare as they passed each other outside the family pavillion.
The redhead flashed an apologetic glance to the older woman, but as soon as she knew Mea's back was turned, Ife quickened her steps yet again, picking up the skirts of her dress and breaking into a trot. She had never been the type of woman to take her time, preferring instead to hurry her days away rather than allowing them to drift by.
And indeed, today was one that deserved to be hurried. One of her father's prized mares was in the laborious process of giving birth, hurtling the entire Windstride pavillion into a flurry of panic and a family-wide search for blankets.
It was an exciting time, but for Ife any birth was an intimidating affair. Out of her two mothers, single sister and two sisters-in-law, she was the only adult female Windstride member to have not experienced childbirth personally. She had not felt that overwhelming wave of love gush over her those after agonising bells of discomfort and labour. As such, all she could see when it came to birth was a lack of sleep, pain, and - perhaps worse of all - stretch marks. And yet despite it all, Ife found herself itching with the desire to experience it all herself.
I must be a masochist.
"Ife! What did I just tell you? You know how clumsy you can be."
Again the Inarta's pace broke, but this time she reasoned with herself that it was because of the pile of blankets she was carrying, rather than her mother's warning. "Sorry, mother." She mumbled sullenly, her freckled skin flushing with mild humiliation.
Mea reached out in an attempt to pacify her youngest child out of her brewing sulk. But as her fingers brushed Ife's shoulder, the silver-haired Drykas stumbled, her feet tripping over something, or perhaps nothing at all. Mother and daughter collided together, but thankfully the former remained upright. The redhead, however, went hurtling downwards, her arms flung outwards in an instinctive act of protecting her face and head from the inevitable fall.
The blankets landed with a dull thud. The redhead landed with a pained grunt and a fracturing of some tiny indiscriminate bone in her foot. Pain exploded through her left leg, shooting through her nerves up to her kneecap. She yelled out in agony, hot tears instantly springing to her eyes. Ife had fallen over many times in her life (Mea's statement about her clumsiness had not arisen out of nowhere), but her previous trips and stumbles had never resulted in such immediate pain. Something was wrong, damaged -- she knew it.
"Doctor." She groaned out to Mea, who had dropped to her knees the micro-tick her daughter had fallen down. Her mother's hands were brushing her hair, touching her face. Mea was no healer - she had no real clue how to help Ife - but her desire to bring comfort to her child begged the woman to do something, anything. Ife's hands flew through the air: Hurry. Now. Broken, she claimed desperately.
With a stern nod, Mea rose to her feet and hurried out of the pavillion to search of someone far more suited to caring for her injured daughter.