***
Zarabethe paced back and forth outside
the small cottage. She could hear Elforen putting Brekke back to bed
inside. The 4 yr old night elf was crying: she had had another
night terror. Zarabethe kicked the dirt in frustration as she
marched: she imagined him scooping the anxious little girl up in his
arms without a second thought. She would bury her tear-streaked face
into her father's shoulder, wetting his shirt, and throwing her arms
around his neck. He would talk patiently and soothingly to her as he
carried her to her bed, and by the time he tucked her in with her
loveys and her blanket, kissing her forehead, she would be calm and
curling up to go to sleep. Zarabethe paused at one edge of the yard
and leaned her forehead wearily against the tree there. The summer
was so hot this year: the humidity was oppressive, and even a brief
foray outside was enough for rivulets of sweat to run down her back,
the sides of her forehead, and between her breasts. It aggravated
her usual aversion to touch to an almost unbearable degree. How she
longed to be in Elforen's place, lovingly tucking their daughter in
without flinching from her clutching arms. She had tried today, she
really had: but Brekke was especially needy lately. Everything was
scary, everything was a danger. Spook had gotten a small splinter
in her paw, and although Zarabethe had patiently let the child help
clean and bandage the wound, she was beside herself with worry. What
if it got infected? What if Spook got sick and died? What if she
died? How would Spook take care of herself if she was not there
to wash her paw? And then the tears; great big sad tears that only
being held would cure. So she did. She tried to pace it, seeing if
she could distract the 4 yr old with games and badly sung songs, but
that only worked so long before she had been toting her around the
house and gardens on her hip. Which, at full-term pregnant, was very
hard to do, touch aversion or no. By the end of the day her back
ached and she was completely exhausted. When Elforen walked in the
door after being at the smith all day, he found both night elves in
tears: Zarabethe trying to scrape a burnt supper out of a pan, and
Brekke sitting at the table hungry. He had brought home a large
basket of fruit, which he sat on the table in front of the hungry
child, and ordered his wife to sit down and rest while he took the
pan outside to dump the ruined meal and then opened the windows to
let the house air out. She had never been more happy to see him home,
covered in sweat and grime from work or not. But while usually she
would be content to put her feet up and tune out the world for a bit,
recharging so she could face it again, she found herself too restless
to sit still. After only a few minutes of sitting, changing
positions, closing her eyes and opening them, she was up again. The
bookshelf was out of order. Her husband returned from bathing to
find her up to her ears in stacks of books, obsessively rearranging
them by date, then alphabetizing them, then starting over and sorting
them by colour. He had gently tried to discourage her, she'd
snapped at him, and he threw up his hands and left the room.
Finally, she got them placed how she wanted, heaved herself off of
the floor, and sought him out to apologize. But the task had done
little to soothe her mind and she had flitted about all evening
straightening and cleaning things. She even sat down and sorted the
basket of little things that was sitting in their room almost out of
sight. As tiny shirts, hats, diapers, and blankets were placed in
neat piles, she remembered Brekke in her earliest days, which made
her simultaneously wistful and nervous.
When she first felt the stirrings deep
in her belly last year, she had been anxious, and her first thought
was to ignore it or hide. But instead she had confided in her
husband, and they had spent many late nights talking about the
possibilities. In the end, it was the yearning in his eyes that had
convinced her: he had missed so much of the beginning of Brekke;
the pregnancy, her birth, even her first few days, and it felt cruel
to deny him a chance at that. It had only taken a few months for the
nausea and dizziness to assault her again, and she knew that she was
carrying their second child. It had been so much easier this time
around; Elforen was ecstatic every step of the way, doting on her to
the point of ridiculousness, and her body seemed to know better what
it was doing this time, and she was able to pace herself more.
Brekke required so much work though, so much patience, time and
energy, and she found herself frequently running short on all three.
When the baby got here she knew it would be worse as breastfeeding
would require her every last effort; she only hoped it would be
easier this time, as she was prepared for it. Even so, the upcoming
addition to their family constantly weighed on her mind and
distracted her. Finally as she and Elf took turns tucking Brekke
into bed (which of course took multiple trips) she sat down and
started stitching again around the fabric she had traded for to make
a baby blanket. It was very similar to Brekke's, only little blue
flowers edged it instead of soft green leaves. Even that couldn't
hold her concentration tonight, and she kept stabbing the tips of her
fingers while sewing. When Brekke had cried out yet again, Zarabethe
threw her stitching into the basket beside her and stalked outside.
There she was now, only her pacing had quickly turned to an awkward
waddle. By Elune was she uncomfortable. Giving up on her walking,
she carefully eased herself down on the wooden bench in the garden.
Their house was an anomaly in Elwynn forest. While it was mostly
human in architecture from the outside, the inside was completely
furnished in Night Elf furniture. Bit by bit, she and Elforen had
worked to add little bits of home to the garden areas: lanterns to
light the path, swooping archways that led to the animal area in the
back. Enlarging the windows to let in more light and air. Native
Kalimdor plants in the garden. She and Elf sometimes jokingly called
it, “Ashenvale-by-the-Waterfall”, but it still fell far from the
silence and peace of the trees in Nightsong Forest. It was for the
most part secluded though, and they didn't get many visitors.
She was grateful for this fact as she
attempted to stretch her aching legs. Her belly made everything
awkward, and she didn't bother much with modesty the last few weeks.
She was wearing a plain cotton sleeveless dress; it was too hot to
wear much else. In a temperature less than that of the Burning
Legion homeworld, it would probably be attractive: it was low cut,
with thin straps holding the top up. Soft white cotton gathered
under her breasts and stretched across her belly, feathering out at
mid-thigh. As with most of her clothes, it had fallen victim to
her embroidery habit, and a row of tiny leaves adorned the bottom
hem. It was a garment that, under normal circumstances, she would
have only laughed at, but today, it was too much fabric. It damply
clung to her back and sides and she lifted her violet hair off of her
neck to let what little breeze there was to her skin. Like
everything else, even braiding her hair and pinning it up was
becoming a challenge, and today she had not had the patience for it.
She stayed there, head back, eyes closed, legs outstretched in front
of her, trying to relax, until she heard Elforen's footsteps on the
path in the garden. When the sound stopped, she opened her eyes and
saw her husband crouched in front of her. His eyes held only concern
as he held out a damp cloth to lay on her neck to cool her down. Her
defenses and aggravation melted, and as she took the cloth she was
not surprised to feel tears well up in her eyes again.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered as she
pressed the cool cloth to her face. It felt like heaven. “It's
just too hot today, and I can't get my mind to settle.”
Elforen reached to brush her hair back
from her face, and she instinctively jerked away, regretting it even
though she couldn't stop it. He pretended to only be brushing an
errant leaf off the back of the bench. Tears spilled out of her eyes
again and she looked away, trying to get control of her voice.
Elforen diplomatically changed the subject.
“How are you and the baby feeling
today?” he asked lightly. Zarabethe swallowed her tears away and
couldn't help but smile. He asked her every day.
“Uncomfortable, but fine,” she
said. “Still in there.” She sat up straighter, smoothing her
dress down the best she could.
***
aaaaaaand that is about all I'm comfortable sharing :D. If you are confused, feel free to visit my deviantArt to see their beginnings.
