Woodson's Arc

Chapter 10 of 10

The snow melted and the slope turned green. Woodson spent the warm months felling pine and splitting it into beams. Lunara chose the spot, a flat shelf above the old cave with clear sightlines down the valley. They built the home together. He raised the walls. She sealed the gaps and hung the door. By the second winter they had a hearth that held the cold at bay and a roof that shed the snow. No hunter had found the trail. Woodson kept his bow by the door but reached for it less each month. One morning Lunara set down her cup and pressed a hand to her belly. She did not speak at once. Woodson went over to her and cupped her face gently. "What is it, my love?" he asked concerned. "I-I’m… I’m with child.” She said with tears in her eyes. Woodson froze for a second before a big smile grew on his face. He brought her into a hug and tears welled up in his own eyes. "It’s a miracle baby… my goodness.” She smiled into his shoulder as she wept with happiness. "Remember what I told you my love. My kind carry thirteen months." She met his eyes warmly. "You’ll have to be patient with me." "I have nowhere else to be," he said as he caressed her cheeks. He meant it. Through the long months he treated her like the queen he believed her to be. When the sickness took her in the early weeks he held her hair and said nothing foolish. When her back ached he built her a chair of bent pine and lined it with elk hide. Her owl flew wide each week and returned with word of the valley, and Woodson learned to read the bird's reports in her face. The thirteenth month came in deep winter. A storm closed over the peaks and the snow fell in sheets. Lunara's pains began at dusk. Woodson stacked the fire high and boiled water and laid out clean cloth. "Stay with me," Lunara said between breaths. Her composure had thinned to a single thread. "Talk to me, baby!” So he did. He told her about the ridge they would plant in spring, the paths he would clear, the room he would add for the child. He held her hand and let her crush his fingers. The night ran long. The wind screamed at the door and he did not hear it. Near dawn the storm broke, and the child came with it. A girl. Woodson caught her in the clean cloth and wiped her face and she took her first breath and cried, loud and furious. He laughed, a sound that surprised him. He set the baby in Lunara's arms. The girl had her mother in every line of her, the pale skin, the shimmering eyes, the white hair soft as down. But her tiny fists were already working at the air, grasping, reaching for the world beyond the blanket. "She is restless," Lunara said catching her breath. "Like her father." Woodson touched the small hand and the fingers closed around his thumb and held. He felt the grip of it in his chest. He looked at his wife, worn and radiant in the firelight, and at the child who shared his restless hands, and he kissed Lunara’s forehead. “My love, you did amazing.” He said against her forehead, “I love you so much. Both of you.” Lunara sniffled with happiness, “I love you too baby. More than you both will ever know.”