Zyran and Cyrus stayed with her after that, and the room slowly became quiet again.
Outside, the winter wind was still brushing against the stone walls, and the soft white snow kept falling over the village as if the whole world had decided to stay cold and silent for one more day. Inside, however, the fire was still burning low, the furs were thick, and the air carried that warm heavy scent of a place where people had slept, worried, and refused to leave a pregnant female alone for even one proper breath.
Isabella was lying back against the piled furs, her hair a little messy around her face and one hand resting over her stomach. She still looked a bit weak from before, though not weak enough to frighten herself. To her, it simply felt like one of those bad moments her body had been giving her more often lately. She did not know what Zyran had sensed. She did not know what Cyrus had been hiding. She only knew that the two of them were acting just strange enough to irritate her.
