( Aria’s POV )
They managed to find there selfs a cabin, after walking and running thru the woods.
Having to get the baby out of the woods, letting him have a resting period.
The Hollow felt smaller in the light.
Morning spread thin across the clearing, weak and uncertain, painting everything in washed-out gold. Smoke rose from the pyres, the smell of ash and blood clinging to her clothes, her hair, her skin. Every breath tasted like something that wouldn’t fade.
Aria stood near the longhouse, her hands slick with herbs and bandages, tending to the wounded who still breathed. But her mind wasn’t on the cuts and the broken ribs in front of her. It was on the sound that hadn’t left her since dawn.
A heartbeat.
Too small. Too fast.
Her son’s heartbeat.
She could hear it in the back
