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Chapter 1

The straw digs at my skin in weird angles and adds a paltry smell to the air, the mild discomfort a worthy trade for the cushion and warmth it provides our quaint cottage during the winter. The sunlight drifts in on particles of dust and the air is still and mild. The dark wood of the logs along the wall make our home seem all the smaller, but there is ample room for our beds, a table and fire place. I sit under the light oak of the table, absently stroking the hair of the doll my mother had sewn for me from scraps of fabric.

I'm the mere age of four, but my mind's curiosity races far beyond my years alive. Everything holds a new wonder for me, a gleam to each discovery. My attention jumps with anticipation as my father crosses the room, in a few of his long strides, to my mother's side. My eyes grow larger as he gingerly puts his hand on her stomach.

(What is he doing?)

My mind takes in every detail of the scene: his broad shoulders and muscular build are making themselves smaller, more humble. To see such a great man being so tender makes my heart whelm with admiration. The love between my parents is tangible, floating in the air like magic I could never recreate with my talents. They gaze at each other, a smile mirrored in their expressions.

"Come, Adela, the baby is moving." He says it softly, as if he is afraid that he will wake it, and the movement will stop. With one large paw, he gestures for me to join them.

I jump up eagerly, wiping away bits of hay that cling to my skin. My hands run over my clothes as well to check it for the pesky bits of chaff. They are a little rough and worn, new clothes a delicacy. When i find it clean, I scamper to my mother's side and kneel down in front of her. She watches me with a bewitching love that only she can emanate. Everything about her is so graceful, she moves like a current in the wind. The way she pulls her hair over her shoulder and runs her fingers through it reminds me of a painting.

My hand hesitates above her smooth engorged belly. (What if I hurt it?) My father seems to read my mind, and takes my hand under his calloused palm, placing it on her stomach. Her skin is perfect and smooth, the only exception to her perfection the stretch marks running along the sides of her belly. Life springs up from inside, and I gasp as I feel movement. I can barely control my excitement; the spark of kinship jumps to life every time I feel it shift against my fingers. I can't resist the temptation. With the next spasm, I hold on to the feeling, and dive deeper into it, reading what my sibling has become so far.

"I have a sister in there!" I exclaim with glee, bouncing up and down with clasped hands.

My mother throws back her head, with a jubilant laugh. "How do you know it's a sister? It could be a brother, wouldn't you like that too?"

My father's face remains stone, and catches my mother's eye. "I think she KNOWS, Elizabeth." My mother's jaw almost drops. "Adela, what did i tell you about using your talents?" His tone is soft but, it holds the underbite of scorn.

"Yes..." I look glumly at the floor. "I was just so excited, I wanted to meet her RIGHT NOW!" something in the back of my mind presses itself forward, like a whisper whisked away by the wind. "Why is she going to get lost?"

Their faces fall from worried to grim.

"What do you mean, Adela?" my mother tries to make her voice sound soft and curious, but something inside of it bites with anxiety. She turns to my father. "What does she mean? How can she know something like that? Doesn't she need training or guidance to do things like that?!"

My father hushes her, running a hand down the side of her face. "Exactly, sweetheart. She doesn't know what she's doing; that could have been anything."