In the pitch black night, thunder cracked and lightning momentarily lit the sky. A small lantern swayed in the wind, illuminating a makeshift birthing place inside an old barn. Agathia strained again, screaming in agony. The cot was soaked with sweat and blood. Agathia gripped the edge, as her fingers dug into the hard oak, the baby was forced further out. Suddenly, the sound of a baby crying.
“Oh, by the gods!” yelped the midwife, dropping the baby onto the hay that was underneath the cot. Still crying, Agathia lifted the child into her arms and covered him in a small blanket.
“What’s happened?!” demanded Agathia. The midwife pointed. There, on the hay, lay the lifeless body of a beautiful baby girl, her umbilical cord tied tightly around her neck. Agathia’s weakened state didn’t permit her the luxury of crying for her loss. Her newborn son wriggled in her arms making cooing noises.
“Aslof,” she said, almost a sigh.