The Hidden Son

Rain, in the savannah, a rare sight indeed.

The dark, star-spotted sky hung above the heads of the elves within their holds, only to be interrupted by the rainclouds that loomed. Several of the tribals that were outside looked up quizzically, small beads of water dotting their skin. Placing stock in their traditions and their superstitions, this would be a good omen during the day, but at night could mean scathing consequences.

The shaman inside of the tent set aside for he and his exploits knew this to be true, and why. Before him a woman lay, screaming with the agony of childbirth, feet propped up on two stools normally meant for sitting. Fervently, two other elves were acting as his assistants, bringing him various accoutrements and medicines.

"Yes, that's it. The child is ready. Push, Vayla, push," he commanded firmly, watching for the child's head to come through.

She screamed, clutching the grass beneath her. Her eyes clamped shut upon her fervent pushes, only to flash open when she attempted to breathe. She repeated this process with difficulty, shrieking growing louder with each contraction.

The shaman didn't seem phased, keeping his braided hair from his face as best as he could, sweat dripping from his brow idly. The medicines hadn't dulled the pain as much as he would have hoped, but his hope was that she would endure it. Just a little further, he thought to himself, eyes trained between the legs of his patient for what was to come.

Throwing her head back to breathe, the maiden panted heavily against the ground. "Garen, I... I can't, I can't do it," she cried out, tears streaming from her face.

"Do not say such things, shel'hanei, we are almost through!" Garen encouraged, his hands waiting.

"Come now, push! Push!" he urged further, looking between her pained face and the assistant carrying the cloth in her arms. Motioning for the woman to assist his patient, she set the towels aside and gave the maiden a hand to squeeze onto. She took it gratefully, gritting her teeth with another burst of built pressure easing the child out slowly.

Garen raised his eyebrows in surprise as the head poked its way through. Saying nothing, he bent lower, gently easing it out of his patient much to her relief. She breathed heavily, finally ending this horrible cycle, and the baby was brought forth into the open air.

The elven elder let out a relieved sigh almost at the exact same time as Vayla had. The child was given a gentle slap to induce breathing, and a few seconds later, its strong cry was heard. Its lungs were powerful, its cry loud and true. With a smile, Garen wiped the child with some of the cloth cleanly.

"It's a boy, shel'hanei," he uttered, using the Elvish statement of her title. Holding out his hand, he was gifted a clean knife, and using it deftly he severed the umbilical cord from the infant. It wouldn't be long before the child and the mother were connected again, however, this time in her waiting, weak arms.

With the child cleaned and swaddled gently in the thick cloth, he was handed to his mother, who gave a half-hysterical laugh of relief. The assistants, and Garen, all smiled until the shaman remembered his duty and cleaned the mother gently.

"Sinari, get the shel'hanei some water. Lian, retrieve Caine and the father," the elder commanded, and the two sought off quickly to perform their tasks. Vayla gratefully drank some water, still gasping breathlessly. Seeing her distress fading, the doctor moved closer, dabbing at her forehead gently with the cloth.

"He has your eyes, shel'hanei," he commented, looking over the child.

Vayla shook her head incredulously. "He does, doesn't he? Thank you, Garen."