Page 108 of The Knucker King

It was beautiful, verdant, like new life had been birthed from the frost. Emerald had exploded across the garden and beyond. Flowers in a spectrum of shades and sizes had popped up, their honeyed aromas saturating his senses.

Then, life.

Rabbits munched on the herbs and vegetables. Birds trilled and darted from shrub to shrub, and a field mouse scurried over his foot, making him wriggle.

The man marvelled at the garden. “You mean… Midwife Avice, did all this?”

“Of course,” Trewoofe snapped, fangs clicking.

He dipped his head. “But all the same. My Emma needs her.”

“Return to your wife. I will leave the decision with Avice.”

“But Lord, I—”

“I said, leave,” he snarled.

With that, the man bowed again and set off at a quick march down the garden path. Trewoofe watched him leave, pass through his ward, and disappear into the woods beyond. A sharp pinch on his skin snapped his attention to the youngling in his arms, her claws had snagged through his sleeve.

Unlike the other two offspring, Mary did not seem to be knocking on death’s door. To Trewoofe, she seemed vibrant, strong, and very much alive as she squirmed in his arms. Yet, her father still did not want her. He seethed at that – what he would not give to have his daughters back – and this human male was so willing to discard his. He understood why the other two families gave up their children, to give them some chance at life. This, though, was inexcusable; it was abandonment.

Trewoofe blinked back his silver tears. “I am so sorry.”

He trailed his claws over her skull, and she nuzzled into his touch. It was then she opened her eyes and looked up at him. They were a startling deep green, matching the leaf mark on her chest.

“Would you like to meet my little witch?” he asked.

She grunted in response.

Trewoofe nodded and made his way back into the cottage.

Trewoofe knelt by the pallet and brushed snarls of hair from Avice’s face. He jiggled Mary into the crook of one elbow and cupped the midwife’s cheek.

“My soul-bou—” He stopped himself. Not yet, Trewoofe. It is too soon. He cleared his throat. “Avice.”

She mumbled something, rolled over, and pulled the blankets over her head. He chuckled and tugged back the covers. He tucked tangles behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her collar bone.

“Mmmm…” she murmured. “’tis it?”

“My little witch,” Trewoofe whispered. “Forgive me for waking you, but a human male brought his newborn offspring here.”

Avice bolted into a sitting position; all the drowsiness had evaporated from her features in a blink. “What?!”

“I have her here.” He jiggled his arm. “Her name is Mary.”

“Is she nearing death? We must act quickly! What of the mother?”

“Breathe,” he soothed. “The child is well…”

She narrowed her gaze. “But?”

“It is best if I show you,” Trewoofe replied, and tugged back the blanket.

Avice sucked in a breath, her eyes roving the baby he held. “Lord, this infant is not well.”

He frowned. “How so? She seems strong, moving a lot, looking up at me.” He smiled affectionately down at the baby.

“That is not normal for human infants. Newborns only cry and make noise when they are hungry for the breast or need to be cleaned. Mostly, they sleep until some months into their growth.” Avice explained, pressing her fingers to the baby’s chest. “She has that mark…” She paused, her hand rising and falling to the pattern of Mary’s chest. “She is labouring to breathe, and…” She lowered her ear to her skull covered head. “…she cannot breathe properly through the bone. She is moving so much because she cannot get comfortable or rest.”