I got there with barely any time to spare. I knew the babe was coming soon. I could feel the pains of contractions. They were getting closer, steadier, I wanted to urge my horse faster but I dared not. I could also feel something was wrong with him. I did not know what, I found out later, after I gave birth. I gave birth to a boy. We have a son now. I wish I could say I spent some time with him, recovering, letting him see his son more before he would yet again leave on some vast trip, but it was not to be. It was short lived. A mouthy lass had to put her two coppers into my life. Accuse me of being mean, cause I do not wish to burden Aeruthuil with my pain. I rather laugh off the stress of birth, the pain that wracked every inch of my body, than let him know I felt like that and have him worry. I’ve banished myself from his camp of soft teethed prats. Too soft to know when to shut her mouth. This woman, I don’t know, has added more distance between Aeru and I. I’m starting to wish death did take me in childbirth.
((Below is a stick figure drawing of two people being torn away from each other, discolouration from tears streaked the page. In the middle was a small stick figure, with a note under it that read, Aethardor.))
