Stillborn

A small vegetable garden and a few apple trees surrounded the tiny,
thatch roofed house at the edge of Farren village square. Plants were
tended by a slim, fatherly man wearing a loose shirt and dirty leather
breeches. His plump, aproned wife shook out clean wet clothes before
hanging them over a rope tied between two apple trees. A young girl
played amongst white and yellow flowers in a small grassy area of the
garden. A low, rickety fence, bleached from the sun surrounded the
garden and a patchy goat was tethered to one of the posts. The man
ceased weeding and stretched his back, tossing a small trowel onto the
earth. Smiling, he waved to the little girl who trotted over to him.
Ruffling her hair as he crouched beside her, she returned his smile and
presented him with a tiny yellow flower. Taking it carefully from her,
he kissed her forehead.

"When you die Father", the little girl began in a musical voice, "are
there pretty flowers in the Holy World too?"
"Of course there are silly", he laughed, sweeping her up in his arms,
"there are fields of Honey-Bells, Dovetails and Cherry-Petal. Every
colour and sweet smelling like this one. Now let's help Ma with those
clothes, shall we?"
The Sun burned high in a pale blue sky on this warm Spring morning and
unknown to them news was on it's way. Depending on their
interpretation, it would either be unpleasant or joyous.

What barely passed for a road, meandered through lightly forested hills
and vast plains of farmland, connecting the tiny villages of Farren and
Hemsean, separated by a days ride. The stranger rode at a walk, grey
horse heavily laden with saddlebags that bulged with everything he
owned. Departing Farren this morning and travelling north toward
Hemsean, he passed no one on the rarely used track. His face was
lowered, eyes shielded from the mid afternoon sun and his clothes were
travel worn. The long, smooth handle of a pick hung behind his saddle.
The mountains were still five days away and Spring was late this year,
so coin was low. He never ate during a day's travel, he would wait and
anticipate the hot meal he would enjoy in the evening. How many years
had he travelled this road, fifteen? He was two weeks into a three week
journey north from his homeland to the mountains that began an annual
cycle that saw him mining in the warm months and returning home in
Winter. Like every previous year, he would spend one night in Hemsean
and fill himself with ale before continuing north at dawn. He was
unaware that tomorrow he would be riding south, back the way he
came.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the grey horse trotted into village
of Hemsean. Taking a room at the only inn which shared it's name with
the village, he did not eat until his saddlebags were safe in his room
and his horse stabled. Two plates of stringy lamb and vegetables
satisfied his hunger and locally brewed ale washed it down. Spending
many nights at inns, he was always hopeful of finding female company to
share his bed for the night. Village women were often interested in
strangers. An open log fired blazed invitingly under a long stone
mantelpiece and the public room was busy. It seemed half the village
men and women were here, drinking and laughing merrily.

Surprisingly he was approached by a woman, the moment he swallowed his
last forkful of food. Perhaps in her middle thirties, she was slim but
full figured and quite pretty, although there was a look of uncertainty
on her tanned face. Straight dark hair, almost black, hung well below
her shoulders and her plain, grey woollen dress was cut to emphasise
her curves. Sitting down at the table opposite him, her the tiny smile
faded as studied his face. Taking a long swallow from his ale, he
addressed her.
"Your welcome to join me."
Her eyes darted nervously around the room as if she were married and
expected her husband to appear at any moment.
"Where did you come from?" she finally asked, her voice a
whisper.
"From the South", he replied, "then through Farren and then
here."
She gave a small start but recovered quickly. Something made her
nervous and although not intrigued, he was mildly curious.
"I know. I watched you ride in", she said, no longer whispering.
Curiously, her demeanour did not match the forward way she in which she
had approached him, so he took the initiative back.
"I am heading north tomorrow, toward the mountains. I go up there when
Spring comes, for the mining. I am Gerod and I work up there till
winter. Do you live here in Hemsean?"
She nodded thoughtfully, her expression contemplating.
"Gerod? Yes. Yes I live with my ... in the village. I live in the
village, with family. My Ah ... family are farmers."
She hesitated again, voice changing pace and her eyes dropped to the
table as she flushed through her tan. Perhaps she did have a husband in
the village. A single tear welled in her left eye and rolled down her
cheek. Perhaps to comfort her, Gerod reached across the table to touch
her hand, but she drew back, chair scraping across the floor.
"No. I can't", she cried, abruptly backing away from the table. She
hurried out of the inn, securing him frowns from more than person in
the room. Odd woman, but he had no time to waste with her and before
the inn was silent Gerod was fumbling drunkenly with a plump, giggling
village woman in his room.

Guiding his horse to the northern edge of Hemsean shortly after dawn,
Gerod passed a few farmers heading out to their fields. The village was
almost out of sight when he noticed the figure. Standing up when she
noticed him, he covered half the distance to her before he recognised
the nervous woman who had fled his table. She was waiting for him. The
after effects of generous mugs of village ale had left gaps in his
memory of failed advances on the women in the inn, but she was not
amongst those lapses. Whatever did she want?

Pulling up beside her, Gerod nodded in greeting, as his horse scraped a
hoof impatiently on the ground. She wore the same dress although she
had added a thick white shawl around her shoulders and did not look to
have slept much. She was clutching a roll of paper, tied with a small
piece of green ribbon.
He was unable to suppress a tired yawn as he spoke, "morning
walk?"
"I am sorry", she said timidly, "last night... It's just that when I
saw you... I thought you might be..."
"Forgive me for being blunt", he interrupted impatiently, "Sorry, I
don't remember your name, but I have a long ride today."
"Sorry. I never told you my name, it is Shanola. Please, I am
desperate. I waited since dawn so I would not miss you. I knew you
would come. Please will you help me? I am sorry to run away last night.
It was not your fault and you must think me such a fool."
It had crossed his mind but he sighed politely, "No, not at all. Your
not a fool. But I must be on my way. I must reach Camble Fall by
nightfall."

Gerod was merely a man - sympathetic, hung over, tired and not thinking
straight and she was a woman - manipulative, pleading, exploitave,
curvy and persuasive. Perhaps he was shallow, but soon he was riding
south toward Farren, back the way he came.

The sun had long since set when he rode into Farren, the small house
located exactly where Shanola said. Tying his horse onto a small apple
tree in the garden, he approached the house and thumped the heavy
wooden door. After a moment the door was opened by a slim, mature man
and a young girl peered from behind his leg. The door was instinctively
partially closed on the stranger.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"I bring you a message", he said. "My name is Gerod and I have
travelled today from Hemsean."
"Message? What message? Who ...?", he asked, as the little girl ducked
behind her father's legs when she thought she was noticed.
"The message is that your daughter is well, and that she ..."
"No!", the man snapped angrily, face reddening, "my daughter is here.
Amalia, go inside to your mother."
The girl hurried inside the house as she was told.
"I was asked to..."
"No", he interrupted firmly, "You have got the wrong house. Please now.
There is nothing here for you. Be on your way and leave us be."
The door was closed firmly on Gerod without another word.

This was the correct house. She had described the location and
surroundings perfectly, including the tethered goat. Considering the
rolled letter still tied with ribbon, he nearly left it on the ground
but the door was suddenly opened by a plump, greying woman.
"Wait", she said in a low voice, "Please. Who told you our daughter is
well?"
Gerod was tired and wanted to be on his way, so he talked
quickly.
"Your daughter Shanola told me herself, this morning. She asked me to
tell you that Shanola... that she is well."
"No", she denied, shaking her head, "We have no other daughter now. It
is a lie. A filthy lie."
Suddenly, her husband reappeared beside her, placing bony hands on her
shoulders.
"She asked me to hand you this letter", Gerod insisted, offering the
rolled paper. "She said she could not come herself because someone
wanted to kill her. Now I don't know why she should believe that, but
please take it, so I can leave you in peace."
Why couldn't he convince them that their daughter was alive? They
seemed adamant she was not. Perhaps reading the letter would eliminate
their doubts. He did not believe Shanola's story about someone wanting
to kill her. The plump woman reluctantly took the letter but did not
untie the ribbon. She began to cry and turned sobbing into her husbands
embrace.
"Now look", he said, "my wife is upset. It's all lies. Shanola... No I
won't speak that name! Our daughter is dead".
The door slammed shut, but at least they had the letter.

Whatever family dispute this was, he wanted nothing more to do with it
and at first light he would be on his way back to Hemsean. He dismissed
any thoughts of female company tonight and was about to leave when a
tiny voice stopped his departure. The little girl, Amalia peered from
behind the corner of the house. Her long curly hair was dark like
Shanora's and there was a similarity in their features.
"Is that your horse?" she asked, "he looks nice."
Gerod did not feel comfortable talking to the girl in the dark, as he
had already upset her parents but he did not want to appear rude. Don't
get talkative.
"Yes. Thank you. He is indeed a fine animal, but I must be on my way
now."
Gerod jumped as Amalia darted from the corner unexpectedly and clutched
his hands with her tiny hands.
"Are there flowers in the Holy World?" she asked musically, small brown
eyes intent on his face. "My Father says there are all kinds."
"I am sure there are", he answered uncomfortably, desperate to be on
his way before her parents realised she had sneaked outside.
"Why have you come from the Holy World?"
Gerod took a step away from the house, but she held tightly to his
hand, taking the step with him.
"My sister is in the Holy World too. Can she come and see me too? My Ma
says she went there when she died."
Her voice was distant and sad but there was a childlike acceptance in
it's tone. Gerod was uncertain what to say, having had little
experience with children but Amalia spoke before he could formulate an
answer.
"I miss Shanora. We used to play."
"Go back inside now", he said gently, "it's getting cold and you should
go back to Mama now."
The girl smiled and released his hand, then waved to him.
"I hope there are flowers for me in the Holy World", she said finally,
before skipping off around the side of the house.
She sang as she went, "Can't catch me, can't catch me, Shanora -
Shanora, can't catch me."
He wanted to forget today, and for that he needed a drink.

Gerod left the Inn even earlier than usual, keen to leave the village
before it stirred. At the edge of the village he was surprised to see
four men standing in the road ahead. As he approached them, he became
aware they were standing across the road and that one of them was
Amalia's father. Two of the others were of a similar age, whilst the
other was grey haired and frail looking. All four were a little unkempt
and looked as if they had dressed in whatever clothes they found first.
Gerod guided his horse as if to ride around them when Amalia's father
stepped forward and grabbed his ankle to stop him. Angrily, Gerod
pulled his foot free and his horse whickered at the sudden movement.
The other three did not move, although their stance changed as if
uncertain whether to attack him or flee. Amalia's father spoke in an
abrupt and angry voice.
"Why did you tell my little girl that Shanola is alive?", he demanded,
finger pointing accusingly up at him. "You have no right to be telling
her that."
Gerod resisted the urge to ride through them and up the road, certain
he could straighten this all out.
"I did not tell her anything like that. She asked me about flowers and
..."
"You listen to me", he snapped angrily, "you stay away from Shanola.
Deep in her black heart she is evil, pure evil. Don't you go getting
involved with her. You go back where you came from and stay well away
from her. Understand?"
"I am going north to Hemsean", said Gerod truthfully, shrugging his
shoulders dismissively. "Then north to the mountains. Nothing else
interests me."
The man stopped pointing but the other three watched him warily as if
he was about to perform some trick before their eyes.
"That letter says she is in Hemsean. For your sake take another way
north. Tomorrow morning when the rest of the Farren militia are
gathered from the farms, we ride to Hemsean. We'll drive her evil away.
She will be driven out. We'll burn Hemsean to the ground if we have to,
to drive her away from here. Somewhere she can go and take her life and
rid the world of the burden of her evil for good. If she was
honourable, she would have done so already."
Gerod stared back at them but had nothing to say. Squeezing his horse
gently and relaxing the reins, Gerod moved north.

Gerod turned in his saddle to look back at the edge of the village.
Three of the men had gone but one still watched him. Amalia's father,
he guessed. Many people believed that the soul passed on when you died,
but there were many names for the place. Thoughts whirled in his mind
like a confused tempest. It all made no sense to him. Gerod enjoyed a
surge relief when he reached Hemsean for the second time, retiring
early. He decided to leave early, in darkness if possible. He longed
for a good seasons mining.

Gerod had not slept long when a knock on his door disturbed him. It was
dark now, and he lit a small candle as the knock came again, louder
this time. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, so leaving the candle on
the table beside the bed, he got up and opened the door. He had mixed
feeling about Shanora standing in the doorway, hand raised and about to
knock again. She wore a long coat, buttoned to her knees.
"My letter?", she asked eagerly, "did you...?"
He yawned sleepily. "They got it".
"Were they... Did you tell them their daughter was well?"
"I told them you were well. How did you find my room? Were you watching
me again?"
"No. The good man of the house showed me. He knows me. Everyone knows
everyone in Hemsean. So how did they react? What did they say? Can I
come in, please?"
Taken aback, he hesitated before agreeing.
"Please", he gestured, ushering her inside, "have a seat."

Shanola sat on the bed as he closed the door behind her. She looked...
charming? in candlelight, but lost and innocent unbuttoning her coat to
reveal a plain blue and green woollen dress underneath.
"Thank you Gerod, for taking it", she said, "I am so grateful. How were
they?"
What should he tell her? The truth, or lies? About Amalia and her song?
About the threats? Shanola wore a pained expression as he recounted his
visit to her, and she lost composure when he told her that they
believed her dead. After that he avoided the accusations of evil, but
told her of her father's threats toward both her and Hemsean. She began
sobbing and crying, hugging her knees to her chest as he continued.
Gerod's own emotions fluctuated between sympathy for her and frustrated
anger towards her parents. Why had they done this to her? Sitting
beside her, he put his arms around her comfortingly and she returned
the hug, sobbing into his shoulder. It was a long time before her tears
stopped.

"Why?", he probed, as Shanola wiped her bleary eyes on her coat
sleeves, "Why did they say those horrible things? Why do they threaten
to burn Hemsean? I do not understand any of this."
Struggling to retain her composure, she told her story, with him
waiting patiently when necessary and holding her hand for comfort. She
had lived with her parents and young sister Amalia in Farren but had
fallen pregnant. It was a happy occasion, a first grandchild for her
parents. Amalia was ready to be the proud little aunt but her labour
had been long and painful and the baby did not survive it. Shanola's
little boy was stillborn, his tiny body lifeless. Gerod choked back the
lump in his throat but forced himself stoic, little comfort for her if
he was upset too. Shanola was cast out of the family and village
immediately. Deep religious beliefs held in Farren that a stillborn
child was an unbearably evil thing. The people of Farren believed that
the mother of a stillborn had been impregnated by the devil and had
voluntarily given him the child's soul. Worse still, the woman would
bring death and destruction if she was allowed to stay in the area.
Poor crops, suffering and disease would follow, a punishment for not
serving justice and denouncing her. It was a horrendously unspeakable
crime that could never be forgiven and she would be 'encouraged' to
leave and never return. They believed that she would be taken from the
world, or would take her own life.

Shanola denied the unspeakable allegations, casting aside beliefs that
she too had always shared. The child's father had left Farren and gone
away. She also left the village and found herself in Hemsean where she
was accepted by an elderly, childless couple. The woman, Paran and her
husband Delain had found her when she entered the village, dirty and
distraught and took her into their home. It had been days before she
could tell them her story and devastated at the loss of her child and
family, only Paran and Delain's support had kept her going. Hemsean did
not share such religious beliefs and Shanola could only pray that her
family would in time forgive her. She now believed it would never be,
and that they would make good their threats and the men from Farren
would come to drive her away from the area. Gerod was appalled and had
never heard anything like this.

"My letter has only made things worse", Shinola said.
"These people will protect you", he said reassuringly, "I am certain
they will. Do not be afraid."
"Thank-you", she said with a small smile, "You are a kind man. Do you
ride north in the morning?"
"Yes", he affirmed, nodding, "with the first light."
"I don't want to be alone tonight", she murmured faintly, "can I stay
here?"
He kissed her gently on the forehead and her hands were suddenly
holding his face, easing his lips towards hers. Hesitantly, he allowed
himself to be manoeuvred towards her kiss. There was a lot of hurt and
pain in this woman. Maybe this was her way of coping with loss. Maybe
it was just comforting, or part of a healing process, but they made
love and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Sunlight caressed Gerod's face through the small window in his room and
he woke immediately. He was naked, thirsty and in the middle of the
bed. Shanola was gone. Gathering his discarded clothes and dressing
quickly, he pulled on his boots before hurrying out to the Inn's public
room. The landlord was arguing with a roomful of the village men, a
dozen voices speaking at once. They fell silent at the newcomer's entry
and the landlord turned to address him, but Gerod spoke first.
"Shanola", he demanded, "where is she?"
"Gone", the landlord said.
"Where?" he demanded. "She needs protecting. Those at Farren
will..."
"I know", the landlord replied, "she is safe at home. Shanola left your
room and went home. Told Delain how those people reacted to her letter
and Delain told me first light this morning about what they said to
you. We won't tolerate threats against our village. Ride here today do
they? We will meet them on the road tell them to ride back where they
came from. They will leave Shanola at peace to grieve. Whole village
knows why she came here, three months past."
The men in the room murmured agreement and a chorus of approval
sounded. Gerod was satisfied they would look after her, so he would
retrieve his saddlebags and leave.

Suddenly, the inn door was flung wide open and a red faced, elderly
woman burst into the room.
"Delain...", she gasped, wheezing for breath.
An elderly man who eyed Gerod disapprovingly, stepped forward from the
group of men and answered her.
"Paran, Paran", he soothed. "Whatever is wrong?"
"It is Shanola", she sobbed, "Shanola has gone. I took her breakfast,
but she left a note. Delain, her bed has not been slept in. She must
have left early this morning."
Paran handed the note to her husband and he read it silently. The men
looked on impatiently and Paran was solemn when he spoke.
"She won't have bloodshed between Farren and Hemsean. She has gone home
to put a stop to it."
Moments later Gerod was on his horse galloping out of the stable yard,
saddlebags still in his room. For the second time in three days he rode
south, this time as fast as they grey would carry him. The men of
Hemsean were not far behind him.

Gerod slowed to a canter, his horse breathing heavily. He had to stop
Shanola. Better she stays in Hemsean with their protection than face
the people of Farren. He was not really sure what they would do if they
reached her first, but their fear of evil would make them
unpredictable. Surely her own father would not harm her? A conflict was
brewing and he did not want Shanola in the middle of it. If she had not
run off, he himself would be long gone and on his way north.

Gerod assumed she had followed the road to Farren and his suspicions
were soon confirmed. Up ahead, a group of perhaps twenty mounted men
stood in a circle a dozen paces from the road, near a small copse of
trees. Several horses were rider-less and secured to a tree. Shouts and
jeers came from the men on horseback but Gerod could not see what was
going on inside the circle. The men were armed with a variety of
battered spears and farming implements, one or two with short bows.
They held the weapons uncomfortably as if unsure how to ride while
armed. The Farren militia? There were three more horseman on the road,
facing away from the circle and he recognised Shanola's father and two
of the men who were with him yesterday. Whatever was happening in the
circle, they were not watching or taking part. One of the three shouted
to him, but he ignored them and dropped from his saddle and ran to the
circle of riders. Two or three of them turned in their saddles to look
at him, but he burst through them and into the circle. The sight
disgusted him.

Shanola lay cowering against the trunk of a large tree, surrounded by
the riders. She was naked and in a foetal position, arms circled around
her chest. Her tanned skin seemed lighter under the midday sun and she
was dirty as if had rolled on the ground. Two men stood looming over
her. One, a frail, grey haired man with a grandfatherly face wearing a
vicious sneer. The other man, short and stocky, in dirty farming
clothes held the remains of Shanola's ripped and shredded clothes. All
of the men jeered at her, cursing her evil with vile and coarse sexual
language. Rage overcame Gerod and he heaved his shoulder into the old
man who was flung backwards, yelping as he fell. Shanola raised her
head weakly, her face dirty and tear streaked but she did not appear to
be bleeding. Gerod was wrestled to the ground by the stocky man. He
thrashed and struggled, kicking the man as they rolled on the grass.
Two riders had dismounted and were helping the old man climb to his
feet, a streak of blood running from his grey hair and down his
forehead. Angry shouts came from the men as Gerod rolled free of the
stocky man. He was struck hard across the back with something flat,
driving the wind from his body. Hands and arms closed around him,
wrestling him backwards as he struggled for breath. There were too many
of them and he was soon carried off and held to the ground by four men.
Five others surrounded him including Shanola's father.

Gerod glanced toward the circle of horses, many of them now riderless
but he could not see Shanola.
"Animals", he gasped angrily, "you worthless animals."
Shanola's father pointed at him, equally angry. "We warned you. This is
no business of an outsider. You do not know what she is."
"I know what you think she is", Gerod spat. "How could you turn your
own daughter away when she needed her family most? And tell her sister
that she is dead. See what they are doing to your daughter?
Look!"
"My daughter is at home, and I have only one. We will protect our land
from evil."
Gerod struggled and cursed, desperate to help Shanola but he could not
move. The man he had kicked, limped over to join them and addressed
Shanola's father.
"Good, you have him. She will not stay round here now, I am certain. We
must send him off too."
He was interrupted by shouts of "Riders! Hurry! Mount!"

Half of the Farren men climbed onto their mounts, hurriedly forming a
rough line to meet those riding in hard from Hemsean. The rest of them
held Gerod and watched Shanola. Gerod heard the argument begin and
recognised the voice of the landlord from Hemsean arguing with
Shanola's father. Curses and accusations were exchanged. Anger at the
threats made by Farren and anger that Hemsean harboured evil. Gerod did
not listen though. He could see Shanola's motionless, foetal form,
between three men that stood over her. One of the men held a drawn
short bow in his hands, aimed straight at the Hemsean line. Gerod heard
the faintest twang as the arrow was discharged toward the horsemen, and
then chaos reigned.

The hands holding him vanished as the shouts and clamours of men filled
his ears. Shouts soon became screams and hooves thundered against the
ground as the skirmish escalated. Primitive weapons were hurled and
swung in a fierce melee of fighting. Men fell, horses reared and the
sky seemed to darken. Gerod was suddenly on his feet, running to
Shanola who was alone and cowering by the tree. He lifted her head up
and she looked up at him weakly, recognition in her eyes. He wrapped
his arms around her and hugged her tight, demanding to know if she was
all right. She did not answer, but there was strength in her arms as
she hugged him. She whimpered into his chest but there were no tears.
Perhaps she had none left. The sounds of battle soon began to fade as
Gerod removed his coat and wrapped it around her.
"Stay here", he said.

To the south and galloping away from him were a few dozen riders. The
Farren men were fleeing, pursued by those from Hemsean. Gerod surveyed
the scene of carnage. Perhaps fifteen men and three horses lay injured,
dead or dying on the churned up grass. The loose horses had bolted in
different directions. Some men were covered with blood and others were
bruised and moaning in low murmurs. He recognised the landlord from
Farren with a small knife embedded in his stomach, lying beside a dead
horse. The stink of horses, blood, sweat and grass filled the air.
Gerod turned his back on the scene, but Shanola was also staring at the
scene, a vacant look on her dirty, tear streaked face.

"Shanola?" he urged. "Do not look at it."
"I did not stop it", she replied, in a distant voice.
Gerod grabbed her shoulders to steady her as she looked as if she would
drop from exhaustion at any moment.
"You could not have stopped it. Why did you come? Hemsean would have
protected you."
"I must see", she said firmly, moving towards the battleground.
A faint voice called for help amongst the dead and injured. It could
have come from anywhere and Gerod ignored it. Shanola did not even seem
to hear.
"Now I believe them", Shanola said, "I do bring death and
destruction."
"Nonsense", insisted Gerod, "this was not of your doing."
She crouched down against the nearest figure and continued with her
self-persecution.
"There is evil inside me. Look around you."
Shanola picked up a small knife from the bloody fingers of a dead young
man, it's blade had already tasted blood.
"They were right. I must stop the evil", she said.
"No! Put it down", shouted Gerod.
"I must stop the evil", she said almost trancelike, as Gerod lunged
toward her. Before he could stop her, Shanola plunged the knife deep
into her chest and slumped onto the bloodstained grass.

Gerod cradled her head. The coat she wore was stained heavily with
blood and the knife was deep in her chest. Gerod knew she was dying and
a tear slid down his cheek as he held her.
Coughing faintly, Shanola murmured up at him, "you... did not remember
me."
It was part statement and part question but she was incoherent and he
did not understand. He was frustrated that he could do nothing to help
her.
"If only I had reached you quicker."
Shanola smiled then gasped in pain, her tanned cheeks paling.
"You were... drunk when we met the first time", Shanola whispered, "but
you were a better... lover... this time."
Realisation hit Gerod like a slap in the face. He had met her before,
one year ago in Farren, during last year's journey to the mines.
Shanola suddenly gripped his hand tighter. With her final dying breath
she whispered only one last sentence and then was still.
"Your son... Our son... He died at birth."