My steps are few and far between.
I had to argue with both Lip and Quill to let me sit in the gardens, away from my bed and away from everyone.
I've been carrying my child for a solid eight months now. My stomach is massive and though I've asked Lip more than once to make sure he could only hear one heartbeat in there, he's confirmed a total of six times that I'm only giving birth to one large child.
Quill suspects that this one might have the wolf gene, which is why he's been monitoring me so close.
I reassure him over and over that there's nothing wrong with me, and though he can see it's a lie, it's the truth. I know death quite well, and he hasn't felt this far from me than ever.
Surely if death was knocking at my door, I'd know?
