Carrying the Flame

I stare down at my stomach, frozen where I stand. My hands shake as I press my open palms against the coarse wool of my tunic, resting them flat over the spot where Rajar swears a child now breathes. The notion strikes like a phantom blow, impossible and heavy.

"I am pregnant?"

The question slips past my lips as a dry rasp, barely loud enough to stir the pine needles at my feet.

Rajar takes a