73 Zi'da 327
There was a crack in the kitchen window that let the cool winter chill inside. It stretched from one corner of the lower left quarter of the window, all the way to the top on the right-hand-side. Malcolm rung out a cloth and watched as tainted water whirled away down the drain, his hands painted red. Outside the doctor's horses stood below the tree-line, still tethered to the carriage where they had remained all night, warmed under blankets now dusted with fresh snow.The first fingers of light unfurled upon the horizon, warm light filtered through the skeleton trees. A small wren flittered back and forth along one of the icy tree branches, his breast burning red in the light of a new dawn. On the stovetop above the fireplace, an iron kettle, as black as soot, whistled. The Mortalborn's breath hung in the air like a silver phantom before spiralling skyward as it mingled with the heat in the room, and a tired scream broke the silence of an otherwise blissful morning.
The doctor took the clean rag and hot water from Malcolm as he returned to the room. "One more push, Ava," the greying man encouraged, his brow wet with sweat and a smudged, bloody fingerprint on the edge of his nose marked where he had scratched an itch.
The woman reached for Malcolm, and the man dumb with exhaustion, fumbled for her hands. He sat down on the edge of the bed and bowed to wrap his arms around the woman, who squeezed him tightly, bearing down. Her breath was hot against his neck, and her hair laced with sweat, clung to the side of his face. Avari's strength was gone, her skin clammy and pale, and eyes red from sobbing. She cried out, the guttural sound ringing in the man's ear, only to be swallowed up in the silence that followed.
The smell of blood was so thick in the air that Malcolm could almost taste it, sharp and metallic in his mouth. It burned in his nostrils, stinging his senses. A warm hand slipped down the length of his arm and Malcolm sat up to find Ava weak, and though relief was etched across her features, the small knot in her brow signified only pain.
"Do you want to hold him?" The doctor murmured.
"No," Ava managed before closing her eyes to rest.
Malcolm reached out for his son and drew the wrapped child close. He was tiny, coloured purple and blue, weightless in the man's arms. His skin was thin and transparent, and covered in a greasy white substance that made him appear almost waxy.
"He's-"
"Stillborn," the doctor nodded. "It's not uncommon for this type of thing to lead to a premature birth."
"Will Ava be all right?"
"Lots of rest," the man ordered gently.
"Thank you, doctor."