He rode for Dr. Aris like the devil was chasing him, the mud flying from the gelding's hooves. He found the doctor at home and they rode back together, heads bowed against the driving rain. The labor was long. It was brutal. Naya fought for every breath.
She did not scream. She was too proud for that, but she made low guttural sounds of pain that tore Elias apart. He stayed by her side, wiping her forehead with a cool cloth, holding her hand until he thought his fingers would break. He saw the fear in her eyes. It was not fear of the pain.
It was the memory. She was back on the trail. She was back in the snow. "Stay here, Naya," Elias whispered urgently, pressing his forehead to hers. "Stay in this room.
You are safe, gawa. You are in your gawa. I cannot" she panted, her eyes rolling back. "He is" "He is slipping away." "He is not slipping."
Elias promised. Though he looked at Dr. Aris with panicked eyes. "He is coming to us." "Fight for him, Naya. Fight."
Dr. Aris worked with quiet efficiency, his face grave in the lamplight. "One more time." "Naya." Aris commanded. "Give me everything you have."
Naya let out a cry that was pure, raw power. She arched her back, her body convulsing with a final effort. And then silence. The rain hammered on the roof. The fire popped, but from the bed, there was no sound.
Elias stopped breathing. He looked at the doctor. Aris was holding a small, slick bundle in his hands. The baby was blue. "Still?
No," Elias whispered. "God, no." Naya struggled up on her elbows. "Why is he quiet? Elias, why is he quiet?"
Dr. Aris turned the baby over. He rubbed the tiny back briskly with a towel. He cleared the mouth with his finger. "Come on, little one," Aris muttered. "Breathe."