Woodsman Anon


                                            >"Husband!"

                                            >Your attention is brought away from your work by the sound of your wife's voice

                                            >After wiping and sheathing your blade, you turn to face her fully

                                            >She is trotting to you with a smile, you notice a pep in her step

                                            >The sight of her makes you sigh in relief

                                            >You had hoped she would come back without bad news, but this is a far better mood than you thought she'd be in

                                            >Kneeling down to her height, the two of you hug and share a brief nuzzle

                                            "You are cured?"

                                            >She shakes her head enthusiastically

                                            >Odd

                                            >Most people are not so happy to come from the doctor without a remedy for their ailments

                                            >She giggles at your confusion

                                            >"I need no herbs. The sickness shall pass in due time."

                                            >You raise a brow at this

                                            "What time is due?"

                                            >She rubs a hoof along her chin, her smile brightening a touch more

                                            >"Well, she was unsure as to an exact date, but she estimated about nine months."

                                            >Nine months?

                                            >What kind of illness can go uncured for nine mon...

                                            >With speed alarming to even yourself, you lift your wife into a tight embrace, forcefully rubbing your cheek against the side of her head

                                            >She laughs that honeyed laugh, joyfully amused by your reaction as she returns the affection

                                            >Done with your frenzied nuzzling, you stand still with your wife resting her head on your shoulder

                                            >You don't even care how foolishly you grin

                                            "I...I was scared that..."

                                            >"I know..." Your wife interrupts

                                            >"But Vïsna has accepted our offerings..." She whispers, her legs tightening around you

                                            >Your mind flashes images of all the times you had helped her pick flowers and search for hollowed trunks to place them in

                                            "Yes...yes...."

                                            >She places her hooves upon your chest and leans away so that she may look at your face

                                            >Despite only knowing for a short time, she already has that glowing aura about her that every mare has when she is with foal

                                            >You've seen it in some of the mares of the village, yet your wife glows even more brilliantly

                                            >She's smiling like she's never been happy before

                                            >Not like this, at least

                                            >Her nose twitches and her pupils dilate a hair

                                            >"You've cooked?" She leans towards your shared home and you feel her hooves barely knead against your chest

                                            >With a humored chuckle, you nod and carry her inside to enjoy the vegetable stew you've had cooking


                                            >Some months have passed

                                            >Your wife's belly grows heavy with child

                                            >Her appetite grows along with it

                                            >She has ravenously eaten the majority of your food stores, forcing you to redouble your efforts in preparing for the harsh winter to come

                                            >You pray to Achak that you can prepare enough to last

                                            >"Husband?"

                                            >You are brought out of your thoughts by the sound of your wife's voice

                                            >She is behind, watching and sniffing the air

                                            >"What do you cook?" she asks, a strange sort of curiosity in her eyes

                                            >You turn your head back towards what you had been working on

                                            >A meat smoking setup, larger than you normally make

                                            >You needed to cook as much of your latest catch of fish as you could in as little time as possible

                                            >The sooner you have these stored, the more time you will have to dedicate to foraging and gardening for your wife's food supply

                                            "Fish. I know smell bothers. Will be done in-"

                                            >"Fish?"

                                            >You look once more to your wife, but she seems almost entranced by the contents of the smoker

                                            >Her eyes are locked onto the dangling fish like a starved hawk watching an infant hare

                                            "Y...Yes?"

                                            >She takes a deep inhale and licks her chops before exhaling

                                            >"Is it almost ready?" she asks without averting her eyes

                                            >You fear you may have to smoke far more fish


                                            >Your wife's due date creeps ever closer

                                            >She's quite large now, needing to wear a bearskin in place of her usual cape when she heads out

                                            >It's coarse brown fur contrasts well against her soft ivory coat

                                            >The weight of it makes it easy to make out the curves of her back as you walk alongside her, the edges swaying along with her flank

                                            >"Behave your eyes, Husband."

                                            >Your wife's scolding brings you out of your trance

                                            >Her words prompt you to take a quick scan of your surroundings

                                            >The two of you are walking through the nearby village

                                            >There are a few ponies out and about, but they're actually not gawking at you for once

                                            >Most of the villageponies have actually been much more accommodating, welcoming even, since learning of your future child

                                            >Your wife tells you that your progeny is proof of the Gods blessing your pairing

                                            >As such, you've been invited to partake in Faerfneia

                                            >It happens twice a year, but this will be the first that either of you attend

                                            >Only the Elders and expectant couples are allowed inside the Great Hall during

                                            >In preparation, you've donned your nicest(cleanest) shirt and put your usually unruly, shoulder length hair into a braid to match your wife's

                                            >A smile sneaks onto your face as you recall the first time you braided her mane, adoring how astonished she was with your speed

                                            >Just one of the few ways your fingers have made her gasp

                                            >"I would tell you to behave your mind as well, but one must be humble in their hopes." Your wife quips, bumping your thigh with her flank

                                            >You bump her in return, eliciting a giggle from the mare

                                            >The two of you continue in silence, enjoying the sounds of the various villageponies going about their day

                                            >You soon reach the Great Hall

                                            >A large building, tall enough for you to have headroom and large enough to fit the entire village's population twice over

                                            >The walls built from stone and mud, it acts as a last line of defense against would-be invaders

                                            >It's also a prime location for town meetings and feasts

                                            >Taking the lead, your wife clops on the heavy wooden doors three times

                                            >After a few moments, it's dragged open to reveal a sky blue stallion with a short, bone white mane

                                            >Shiversheet, you think his name is

                                            >He smiles upon seeing your wife

                                            >You notice that he continues to smile when he turns his attention towards you

                                            >"Perfect timing! We've just finished the preparations." He says before ushering the two of you inside