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“She was family to you,” Annika said when Farra fell silent, lost in thought. “This Harlow Sabar?”

Farra nodded.

“You speak of her often,” she remarked.

Farra ran her hands over her distended belly. “There are no others to speak of.”

Annika pushed her thread through the hide she stitched and frowned in thought. “It seems your Ledge and this Colony have much in common. Both trapped by brutes, living by their mercy alone. Though your kind seem to have a penchant for killing one another.” Her nose wrinkled. “It is odd you have not found unity together.”

“It is difficult to be unified when one can die for the simple impudence of stepping outside.”

Annika dropped her gaze then, her lips pressed tightly shut. Farra knew the female kept her speaking for distraction. She did not allow Farra to wallow. Yet now silence stretched between them, as she pulled on her thread and chewed on her tongue.

Farra thought she seemed regretful.

Finally, Annika said, “Humans do not belong on this mountain.” She lifted her eyes and let them travel over Farra’s limbs, pressed in tightly beneath her bundles of furs. Still, Farra trembled with the cold. A blizzard blew outside and it found easy entrance to them both through the many cracks and crevices of this hut. It did not seem to bother Annika at all.

“We mixed do not live easily here,” Annika continued. “We eat what we can trap and what the brutes deign to feed us. We are restricted to the borders they created, kept tightly beneath their reign. They take our children, our iskra when it suits them, if not as often as they take yours. But this mountain – the cold – it is still our home,” she said. “And we do not fight its touch each day that we dare to live.” She returned to her work once again, uncharacteristically leaving Farra to her thoughts.

“You had a child. Ryon,” Farra said slowly, cautiously. “Thaddius told me a little about him.”

Annika’s hands stilled, but her eyes stayed averted. She sighed before continuing. “Yes,” she said, her voice sadder than before. “He was beautiful, but too spirited for this place.” She shook her head, smiling. “I imagine him flying somewhere out of reach now. A boy like that was never going to remain confined for long.”

“And… his father?” Farra pressed.

“He was killed soon after,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “He was heartbroken. Filled with rage. It overcame him, as hatred often does.” She shook her head. “It was only a matter of time before he did something stupid.”

“What did he do?”

“He tried to kill a brute,” Annika said, sniffing derisively. “As though killing just one would do any good.” She reshuffled the piles of garments she was working on and stood, clothing in hand. “The difficulties you face are… unthinkable.” Her voice was far softer, meeker, than Farra had ever heard it. “But if there had been a way to trade my life for Ryon’s, I would have gladly taken it. It would be a relief, not having to endure without him. Mothers are supposed to pass before their children, Yennes. You suffer now, but you will not suffer long. There is some solace to be found there, I think.”

She shuffled away then, disappearing beyond the drape, and Farra traced small circles around the top of her stomach, feeling the life of the child within.

Another month passed without Thaddius’ presence and Farra felt it with every twitch and kick of the baby in her womb.

When the threadbare drape of the shelter’s entrance was finally pushed aside by a stark hand, it was not Thaddius who ducked his head through the opening, but Phineas, and his biting glare found Farra immediately.

Annika backed away, fear widening her eyes. “Wait–”

“Hush,” Phineas said, stepping inside. “I have not come to tie you to the stocks. Though Ishould.”

“Phineas,” Farra said stiffly.

“So, it is true.” His eyes had lowered to the swell of her abdomen. His expression changed into one of disgust. “Holy Mother,” he muttered. “What trouble you’ve brought upon yourself.”

“What do you want?” Farra said abrasively. The revulsion in his stare made her skin crawl.

“Only to see with my own eyes what Thaddius has told me.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “The thing that has swallowed him whole and spat him out.”

“And what concern is it of yours?”

“Heis my concern,” Phineas growled. “He does not eat. Does not drink. Does not follow orders. And it isyouwho drives his madness!”

“And do you suppose I asked to be taken from the Ledge? To be wrenched out of the pool? Has it not occurred to you, Glacian, that perhaps I would rather have let that pool take my soul, than be before you as I am now?” She huffed with exertion, unable to catch sufficient breath.

“He loves you. Do you understand that, human?” Phineas growled. “He is… killing himself. Slowly. You must convince him not to.”

Farra laughed shallowly, darkly, though there was a twinge of pain that could not be ignored. An involuntary response to the thought of Thaddius dying. “I have not seen him in many weeks, Phineas,” she said. “And I have little time remaining. His child will make its presence any day.”