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A low, agonized groan echoed through the crude wooden hut. It was the kind most common among forest dwellers, with a thatched roof that risked leaking during heavy storms. It was adequate for everyday living, though this particular hut was especially rundown. Its thatched roof was rotted and moldy in places and had clearly not been replaced in several years.
Outside the hut stood a Hols man with an anxious expression. He had built a roaring fire under a cooking pot nearby and was continuously feeding it wood in an attempt to bring the water inside to a rolling boil.
A wooden basin and a darkened towel sat nearby. The man kept glancing back toward the hut, deeply unsettled by the low, agonized cries coming from within. However, he didn't dare barge in without permission, at least not yet. The doctor's word carried enough weight to keep the man's temper in check for the moment.
With fuel poured in regardless of cost, the large pot of water soon came to a rolling boil. Using a wooden ladle, he poured the boiling water into the basin and let the towel soak for a moment. Then he added a bit of cold water to cool it down and began scrubbing the towel and several strips of white bandage clean.
Once the water turned murky, he stopped scrubbing, dumped out the dirty water, and rinsed the basin with fresh boiling water. Only then did he lift the now-full basin of hot water and rush into the room.
Their finest bedding lay on the small wooden bed. Though threadbare and darkened with age, it was enough to help them survive the harsh winter cold when paired with several furs from past hunts.
His wife lay on it now, crying out loudly. Her face was flushed deep red, and strands of flaxen hair were plastered to her cheeks with sweat. Her hands and feet thrashed helplessly against the agony wracking her body. Several elderly women from the village had gathered to help. One of them took the basin from the man's hands and shooed him toward the door.
"For Effas's sake, get out of here! You're only getting in the way! Don't forget to keep the double-leaf grass boiling in the pot. We'll need it soon."
Before he was pushed out of the room entirely, he caught a glimpse of the most striking figure inside: a tall, voluptuous woman directing everyone with quiet authority. She wore a plain gray dress that fell to her ankles. A leather belt cinched her waist, tracing the outline of her slender yet strong figure. The otherwise loose fabric was drawn taut just enough to hint at her generous curves. A small deerskin pouch for gathering herbs hung from her hip, and her form's striking, breathtaking curve radiated an undeniable, unmistakable feminine allure.
Her pale, bluish-gray hair was gathered at the nape of her neck with a deer-bone hairpin, revealing her slender, graceful neck. Two long, delicate ears not particularly pointed extended from beneath her hair at her temples. In this dimly lit room, they were barely noticeable; one could easily overlook them entirely if not paying close attention.
She served as the village's healer or perhaps more accurately, a shaman healer of sorts. She was the only person in the village who could safely deliver his child. Even so…
The man shook his head, brushing aside the faint trace of unease that had crept into his mind, and returned to the cooking fire. He grabbed a handful of green leaves from a nearby basket and dropped them into the pot. In an instant, the once-clear boiling water turned a murky bluish-green, its color deepening steadily with each passing moment.
Bringing this child safely into the world was proving to be no easy task, especially out here deep in the forest.
The worst had finally come to pass. His wife still hadn't delivered by nightfall. Her once loud, agonized cries had grown faint and weary; her strength was clearly failing. The man paced frantically outside the hut, his mind spiraling. More than once, he tried to rush inside, but the elderly women guarding the door held him back each time.
He stood there, utterly helpless and consumed with anxiety, when he suddenly froze. His long, slender ears twitched faintly as if they had caught some distant sound. A look of alarm swept across his face at once. To confirm what he thought he heard, he pressed his head against the ground. There it was a deep, rumbling vibration, like distant thunder rolling closer.
In the blink of an eye, the faint rumble grew into an unmistakable, thunderous noise, the sound of hundreds of iron-shod hooves pounding the earth and echoing across the entire village.
The woman lying on the bed had already gone pale. Under the direction of the tall healer, the other elderly women managed to get her to swallow a large bowl of bluish-green liquid, and color quickly returned to her face. They prepared once more to finish the task they had started: to bring the child safely into the world.
"Cavalry!!! ................."
A scream of pure, undiluted terror tore through the village. A moment later, the iron pot hanging near the village entrance was struck violently, sending a sharp, ringing clang echoing through the small settlement. More panicked shouts and cries quickly followed, and, in an instant, the once-quiet village erupted into total chaos.
But even as the pounding of the iron pot continued, a thunderous, storm-like roar suddenly engulfed the entire village.
A massive force of restless warhorses closed in around the small settlement. Their iron-shod hooves trampled swathes of grass into the mud and left deep imprints across the ground.
Amid this terrifying clamor, everyone in the village scattered like blades of grass caught in a gale. They were instantly thrown into a state of panicked chaos. The women dropped what they were holding and fled through the doors in every direction.
Only the pregnant woman, who was still immobile, and the healer remained in the room. Everyone else including the pregnant woman's husband had vanished without a trace.
Terrified out of her wits, the pregnant woman began to babble incoherently, sweat and tears mixing together on her face. She tried to drag herself up off the bed, but her weak, pain-wracked body refused to cooperate.
"Lie still."
A slender yet firm hand pressed against her chest, guiding her back down onto the bed. The healer continued her work with unshaken calm, showing no inclination to flee.
"Do what I told you and keep pushing. Right now, our only way out of this is for you to bring this child into the world, and then we'll run together. Hurry."
After spending the entire afternoon giving directions without pause, the woman's voice had grown slightly hoarse. Yet it still carried a steady, reassuring strength that helped calm the expectant mother. Amid another cry of pain, perhaps spurred on by the crisis itself, the child who had shown no sign of progress all afternoon finally slid free of the birth canal remarkably smoothly.
However, the infant lay completely motionless and showed no sign of crying, sending the new mother into a fresh wave of panicked sobbing. The healer, however, remained perfectly composed.
Her slender, pale fingers moved with swift, skillful precision. Using a small knife that gleamed with a pale bluish-green light, she severed the umbilical cord in one clean stroke. She then grasped the infant by the ankles, lifted the baby upside down, and delivered a few firm but careful slaps to its bottom.
Several red marks quickly appeared on the child's pale, amniotic fluid–soaked skin, and a cloudy fluid trickled from the infant's nostrils. After a couple of coughs, a loud, healthy cry finally filled the room.
The healer wiped the infant's body clean and dry with a large towel in a few brisk, efficient motions. Then she placed the baby into its mother's arms. The child, who had been wailing loudly just moments before, immediately fell silent upon sensing the familiar warmth and curled its small body tightly against her.
The mother was still weak and fragile, but there was no time to spare. Just as the healer moved to help her patient rise, a sharp, rasping sound echoed from beside them. It was the sound of iron scales scraping against one another.
The healer stiffly turned her head toward the doorway, fully exposing her young, fair, delicate face. A tall man clad head to toe in heavy armor stood in the doorway. A jagged scar cut across his face. He had been watching them silently for quite some time. Behind him stood several more armored cavalrymen, equally silent, their weapons gleaming with a cold, blinding light.
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