A Happy Event - Eventually.

[Wendy]

The drudging of her tired pulse is soft in her throat. Her auburn hair is still darkened, dampened by sweat. Her gaze displays reluctance to trust the image of a wriggling form caged within Cinn's hold.

Wet and worried, her green eyes move to view the extraordinary child and then touch on that smile of his. Is she reading correctly? Her heart becomes a drum.

Her throat is a dry chamber, "Let me see."

Her trembling hands wave him and the bundle closer.

[Cinnabar]

The distance between them is crossed easily enough as he takes a seat beside her, leaning back against the foot of the bed before handing over their child, uncertain, cautious, care taken as if holding something that is eggshell-delicate and yet a treasure beyond price.

Into Cambree's arms is passed a bundle of charred rags, and amid it a tiny face that scowls and squalls and shouts as if to voice a most vehement disapproval of the treatment that has befallen it so far. Smudged and smeared with hearth-ash and soot, the wrappings still hot to the touch in places, yet undeniably alive and vigorous.

Near the hearth, Mistress Roslin buries her face in her hands with a low moan of dismay.

[Raveness]

Lavender would watch as Cinnabar picks up the flames from the hearth and presses it to his chest. Her eyes leaking, she'd close her mouth, silencing her screams. Then her knees would be pulled onto the bed and her arms would untangle from those of her cousin.

She ponders words, so many words about the coyotes that inhabit the room and the fire and the baby.. but she stays silent. Her eyes shift from Cinnabar to Glenn and back to Cambree as the governor moves to sit on the bed beside Cambree. Lavender inches off the bed, to stand as he does.. one rises, as the other one falls. Her footsteps are careful to move away from the two, giving space, and yet keep her from the other women within the room.

[Wendy]

The light weight in her arms exudes a warmth that is hard to put into words. It is something that exceeds the damage of flames. The scent one would expect while holding a newborn is largely supplanted by the smell of destroyed gauze and linen.

Cambree's hands are still shaking, already peeling layers of fabric to find her baby underneath. Her lips pushed to a frown, she means to assure herself that no harm was done by that fire.

Perhaps another mother would have been surprised by this survival, but she has been witness to Cinnabar's unique immunity before. A swell grows in her chest while her soft voice attempts to soothe the fighting spirit of her child.

Movement on the bed draws her gaze while brittle fabric drifts to her lap and the floor. She watches Lavender move to give them the bed's space, but remains at it's foot, on the floor, beside Cinnabar

There is a cautious smile arranged for Lavender's viewing - an invitation to draw closer before glancing to Burnie. His back is facing them. She looks then to Magda. These are people that she would share this moment with, obvious friends that would lend themselves in times of good health, but also struggles like today's.

Cold rains that were promised in the forecast have begun to splatter on the windows at Calomel Hall. Wary glances are sent to see where Mistress Roslin and her girl are standing before a brief, timid smile returns to Cambree's lips. She looks for Burnie. She would have him move in closer to them, but his back is still turned.

Cinn's presence provides outstanding comfort, and she is glad he sits beside her. Hope lifting the hue of her eyes, she glances down from his face, murmuring in reverent petition that all will be well.

If their infant has been protected by having Cinn's attributes, then they are completely blessed.

[Jirai]

There is Glenn Burnie here to meet her. There is a glance for the mapmaker, the girl's bronze eyes narrowed, a small frown creasing scaled lips. She is less than pleased, clearly. From the young man, though, her gaze heads briefly to the Calomels, then past to land on the midwife.

It is towards the midwife she will move then, if Glenn does nothing.

[Glenn]

This is a Glenn Burnie who had an urge to draw his dagger only a moment before, perhaps even an urge to use it. At the same moment Rhaena's head turns, his turns as well, eerily in unison were anyone to actually be watching the pair. Then, with just the slightest bit of hesitation, he moves slightly, allowing her past.

[Cinnabar]

The newborn Calomel is less streaked with ash and cinders beneath those wrappings, though even against the infant's skin the cloth is scorched with the heat of the fireplace, falling to fragments and tatters as it is pulled away. Barring some smudges, however, no harm seems to have befallen the child from its baptism of fire. The cleaner skin shows as pale, soft, though faintly freckled across the upper surfaces of plump arms and shoulders. Tiny hands are balled into fists, and though the child's eyes are still squeezed closed the fine wisps of hair that somehow survived the blaze shine silver-white in the room's lamplight.

More of the ruined linen and gauze is peeled back, aided by the infant's instinctive kicking and struggling; what lies beneath, however, gives some indication of the source of the midwife's distress, and at least partial explanation for her actions - though whether this will find her excused in the eyes of those around her is another matter entirely. At first it is some impression of strangeness about the child's legs, something awry in the proportion of the limbs, but this is overshadowed by movement amongst those singed rags. not kicking but sinuous, first lashing and then coiling, pale-skinned and freckled, with a raised ridge of thicker, greyish skin running its length - and thence continuing up the child's spine, where the speckles of colour are denser, darker across the shoulders, giving a texture quite different to the expected soft, smooth skin of a newborn.

Stunned silence from Cinnabar, fingertips frozen an inch from stroking those tufts of pale hair, eyes widening, brow furrowing in confusion, incredulity.

Elizabeth is distracted by the necessity of guarding the Mistress Roslin against further assaults by Magda, while the midwife watches the scene beside the bed from across the room; hands pressed over her mouth, hardly daring to breathe, it is only when Rhaena Olwak is almost within arm's reach that she is noticed, the older woman visibly flinching at the trader's strange features. Her voice is a whisper, hoarse with the effort of not shrieking her words in horror.

"The child is a monster! What else was I to do?"

[Raveness]

Lavender shifts her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Her eyes glance around the room, from one person to the next, still too stunned to say anything. She can't help but be curious, as one is drawn to a train wreck, Lavender can't seem to pull her eyes far from the fire child. That is, not without returning to the baby.

Cambree's eyes meet her own gaze and they lock green orbs.. twin's eyes almost, as Cambree beckons her closer. There is a hesitation from Lavender, whether its due to the baby itself, or Cinnabar between Lav and Cambree, or the merely the others in the room, it is unsure.

But as Cinnabar unwraps the baby, there is a gasp that escapes from Lavender's mouth.. and a slight stagger backwards from the trio. Her emerald eyes blinking, first at Cinn, then the Cambree, and then to the others. A quivering hand moves to clamp over her mouth to keep her from screaming, again.

[channe]

Magda Kaczmarek is strangely silent.

And then -- and take this, Cinnabar, for evidence of the woman's growth -- she's trembling, she's frightened as any of them, she's looked on the child as if it is a monster itself, but she walks across the room, picks up the midwife's things, and points to the door.

"It. Is. A. Child," she says. "Mister Burnie, you will be arresting her for almost murder, yes?" It is what her Agnie would do, and there is no doubt that this woman will quite perhaps never move against Cinnabar.

But then again -- the man doesn't burn. He's strange. And now he has a monster child.

Roslin has moved against him.

Magda knows the wisdom of never doing so. Ever. Even if it's just in the new stone walls of her house. The full bellies of her family. How far Agnie has risen.

Actions speak louder than words.

[Jirai]

"And what, then, would you call me?"

She was close, close enough to touch did she choose. She did not, as it happened - she needed no touch. Not for what she was about to do.

"And why should I not do to you as you would have done to the child?"

Arrest? That takes too long. Rhaena is more direct.

[Wendy]

Cambree must see that every inch of their child is unscathed. Quaking fingers graze a pale cheek. Singed cloth is removed from one tiny fist while she first looks upon this precious face. "Let me see you," her voice trembles, lifting a thick little arm in the air to view its underside. A similar inspection turns for the other arm as the tip of Cambree's finger curls into the infant's grip.

She turns a bright, excited gaze toward Cinn, "She's strong!" It seems to amuse Cam, whose shoulders quiver. She returns to her job of finding that their tiny Calomel is all right. She is just about to remove her fingertip from their daughter's clenched hand when.

The oddest thing...

"Cinn?" she manages. She is doing her best to tame her jaw, her green eyes widening with every contented lash of the infant's tail. Immediately, Cam lifts the baby away from her body and turns it to see that...

"Cinn." Tremors moving through her cause her arms to shake. The baby is partially turned, enough for Cambree to see that the tail is real and is part of their daughter's spine.

There is Burnie, quiet in the doorway. Lavender, holding back her speech. Miss Olwak moving... Miss Olwak?! Had she anything to do with this? Very quickly, Cambree tucks the baby to her chest and surrounds it with her arms - hands far and above, away from that curling tail, but as supportive as a new mother can be.

The child is a monster!

Mistress Roslin is cornered, first ordered to leave, then crowded to stay by the two. Elizabeth has chosen to sit down on the hearth stone, as her legs have given out.

Cambree's closed lips are held together tightly, but little control can be seen for the shiver of her head. In fact, her entire body seems to vibrate as if a cool gust blows on her paling skin.

Her mind is littered with questions. There is fear in her heart, despite being surrounded by steadfast family and friends. She licks her lips before trying to speak. The shock of her body controlling the breaking pattern of her voice, she speaks to Cinnabar, "I don't. Want." she shakes as if with cold, "Any m-more trouble," her gaze becoming aware of things that are said with his face.

Guilt is a recognizable look on her own. The shake of her head is imperceptible because of the shivering. Even his warmth cannot slow or stall it.

It. Is. A. Child.

Has not enough bad luck been generated? Will more be created in their first days of their new home, on the first day of their new family? Her green eyes move in the distinct direction of Miss Olwak and the trio she makes with Mistress Roslin, and with Magda, before being drawn back to Cinn. Agitation will not permit her lips to disturb the situation, but is her gaze firm and steady as it may be.

[Glenn]

Arrest her? As if that would be enough for what she would have done, what she had almost done, what she HAD done? No, for a moment, two moments, three, almost enough, he agreed with Rhaena Olwak. That happened ever so often as of late. This time it was so personal in more than one way. Perhaps this woman deserved the fire that she had wished to inflict upon the helpless child.

Finally, though, other thoughts came to him, for by now, his eyes have found Cambree Calomel, and his thoughts have fallen to consequences, consequences and hard, hard decisions. He would walk forward then, wrapping his arms around his lover, she who was currently stood in all of her glory and terror, things that the trader girl had not possessed at all simple months before.

His voice would be a whisper, only for her.

Hard decisions, yes, but he wouldn't mark this day with pain and blood and darkness. Still, something had to be done. Something WOULD be done.

And then, a moment later, he would glance at Elizabeth, at Magda even. How far would this have to go? No, first thing first. His eyes turned back to Roslin as he spoke on to Rhaena, this time without words.

[Cinnabar]

This is all beyond the midwife's ability to cope, this accusation and confrontation, what should have been so simple a matter suddenly very much not. She shakes her head at Rhaena's question, unable or unwilling to answer, her voice weak and despondent. Trapped, cornered, exposed.

"It's always been this way, always. This is Myrken Wood, it is what we do to survive. How could you understand?"

Beside the bed there are timeless moments of uncertainty, trying to take in all the events of these past few minutes, all the horror and relief and confusion. It is his wife's voice that bring Cinnabar back to the moment, however, the unsteadiness of her tone, the trembling of her body. Bewilderment is pushed away for now, thoughts of how this could have happened are left aside. There are matters that need attending to here and now, tangible actions that can be taken to address them.

"She needs a wash." There are containers of hot water laid ready nearby, and so he looks to Cambree's cousin for assistance. "Lavender, could you ready a bath please?" His tone is firm, determined. When all around you is chaos and disorder, take control. Organise. Provide direction.

"There'll be no more trouble." Quieter words for his wife as he drags more sheets from the bed to tuck close around her shoulders, making contact with gentle and reassuring touches - fingers lifting to gently brush her hair back from her brow, reaching around her to be sure that she is wrapped up warm, comforting and supporting as best he can. Leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, and then to the brow of his daughter, a gesture that makes his decision clear.

Only once he has tended to these immediate needs does he look up again to the others in the room - Magda, Roslin, Glenn and Rhaena, and Elizabeth in a kneeling heap by the hearth. He remains kneeling beside his wife, a hand gently squeezing her shoulder, but his gaze is clear and his tone stern.

"Enough. That's enough." Making sure that he is heard. "Mistress Roslin, I will have you explain yourself - but not now. Mistor Burnie, Miss Olwak, I would be obliged if you could show Mistress Roslin and her aide to one of the spare rooms and ensure that they are comfortable there." The implicit meaning is clear enough, that the two women are not to be harmed. "Mistress Kaczmarek, my wife needs warmer blankets, if you would be so kind."

There is brief thought for Susan, the apprentice midwife who'd fled the room. The farm's estate is large, so it's likely she's still on the property. "If you could ask someone to look for the other girl, that would also help. I wish no mention made of what has happened here until I say otherwise - until I know why." A look for Roslin at that, then back to the others - his friends - who also crowd the room.

"Can you do that for me?"

[Jirai]

"You know nothing." The Trader spat contemptuously at the midwife. It was only Glenn's arms around her that prevented more than that - had it not been for the mapmaker, she might not have noticed Cinnabar's words at all. There was a flicker of bronze eyes towards the governor, belatedly.

"I suggest you come with me." Words continued to be directed towards the midwife, threat implicit. Rhaena might enjoy it if she did NOT come willing.

Personal, in more ways than one. Glenn was most correct about that.

[Glenn]

Explain herself? Calomel, are you that naive? Three years old or not, are you truly that naive? Is your heart that large? Or are you just too biased by the current situation? It's plainly obvious what she did, why she did it, and it's also plainly obvious what will come next. What HAS to come next.

This can't get out. Not like this. Not with screams and panic and rumors. It really can't come out at all, but Cinnabar won't accept that. Therefore, it'll have to come out on his terms or not as all. There are two ways to be sure of that. Both cross a line that the governor would likely not have the mapmaker and the trader cross, yet at least one is more.. reasonable. It's a shame that it'll be too late for him to object further by the time it happens. It's a shame he'll never get that answer from Roslin. How can she answer for what she no longer remembers?

Still, no coy words to Calomel upon the matter. Just a nod of affirmation and then on to business. It is nothing Glenn has ever suggested, for it crosses lines of Ariane herself. There's no reason at all to suspect it from Burnie and he will give no clue here and now. It was too important.

More unspoken words to Rhaena, perhaps discussing that apprentice, that other girl (why the hell did they have to have so many people here, anyway!), and then his eyes go back to Roslin. "Come along. Now, please." His tone was less hostile than Rhaena's at least. As polite as Calomel at his most polite. "Thank you."