Wild Pregnancy

You're taking shelter in a seasonal woodcutters lodge, presumably empty for the next couple of months; till the end of winter at least.

Its near freezing outside, the blizzard having turned to torrential rain with the wind shift yesterday. Though the elements and building fatigue from the previous week, 'Is it a week now?' you say interrupting your train of thought.. had little to do with your need to take a break.

Rain hammers the roof of the small cabin, the sound increasing as the foot of snow atop is pushed aside and tin? begins to meet droplets. A faint steady piddling can be heard from over your left shoulder.

Wind whistles through a number of holes in the corner of the wall near the floor, stirring the flames of the small hearth fire ahead of you into spirals and waves casting shadows around an otherwise pitch black room.

Rough heavy furs drape over the cabins windows, their weight solidly blocking the flow of cold air around the poorly fitted pains.

The fire is well fed and crackling cheerfully, keeping your face comfortably toasty. The bear pelt wrapped loosely around your shoulders keeping the chill off your back.

You shift your gaze from the fire to your companion..