A young warrior spun on his heal outside the birthing tent, responding to the wails of his newborn child. Long strides bore him quickly towards the throw-slung portal where an old woman tossed the furs aside as if predicting his approach. Thrusting a set of withered hands firmly against his chest, she halted his progress.
“Let me through, Mardi,” Bjorn growled. “I want to see my child.”
“Please, I must speak to you a moment. There is something you need to know.”
“Well? What is it?”
“The child, he is… Something isn’t right. I have seen nothing like this before.”
“What?” The warrior enquired a little too softly. Mardi’s eyes slid meekly from his face as she struggled to retain her nerve. Prudently, she changed the subject.
“Shima is resting. She shouldn’t be disturbed now, Bjorn. It was a painful –”
“Shima is my wife,” The warrior interrupted with a low snarl. Considering the discussion at an end, he shouldered his way into the tent, the elderly woman no match for the brute force of his muscled arms.
Inside the shelter a younger lady bowed over a rush-woven crib, reaching down to comfort the distressed child. An exhausted woman lay on a homemade mattress, her fragile body bolstered by knots of cotton bedding.
Bjorn strode forward, scowling at the young maiden to chase her from his infant. Each set of powerful hands came to rest on the base board of the cradle and the warrior stilled, gazing into the nest of pristine swaddling. The child’s cries died on its lips as it struggled to liberate a single hand from the tucked blankets, its reddened face awash with tears. It's blue eyes roamed aimlessly before turning upon it's father, transfixed by the warrior's face. Bjorn met that gaze with his own, studying the tiny countenance in perfect silence. Thick fingers tightened around the base of the crib to steal the fleshy hue from his knuckles, evoking a soft crack from the buckling rush work.
Following this tense silence, the warrior straightened in place, turning his stiffened neck to view his wife. She lay upon the bed in wordless repose, her face drained of colour. After a time, her eyes -- in the same manner as his child’s -- rose to meet his own.
“You have failed me, Shima,” Bjorn forced through clenched teeth, pointing a condemning finger at the newborn baby. “That creature, our son, is unforgivably flawed.”
“Bjorn!” Mardi admonished, lingering in the entrance to the tent beside her young attendant. She spoke nothing further, horrified by the exchange and fearful of the warrior's reaction. All she received in response was a withering look. The duo of midwives parted skittishly down the middle as Bjorn strode towards them, allowing him to pass unhindered into the night.
“You must try to forget, Shima. You must rest,” Mardi fretted, bustling towards the bed and fussing with her sheets.
“I want to see my child,” Shima whispered.
The younger nurse nodded and retrieved the infant from his cradle, delivering him to his mother. “Be careful of his back,” she cautioned. “It’s… Not very stable.” Shima nodded absently, already gazing intently into her baby’s eyes.  
“You are beautiful, my Kellan. Strong and handsome. One day you will be a powerful man, just like your father.”
Mardi and her attendant exchanged dubious glances, retreating outside to allow the mother and son a moment of privacy.
“She must understand. She knows what will happen doesn’t she?” the younger whispered.
“Yes,” her elder sighed. "At least they have tonight to be left in peace.”
The attendant turned away with a troubled frown as Mardi scanned their surroundings. The creases around her eyes deepened as she narrowed them, picking out the silhouettes of trees and rocky formations in the dim light. She found herself praying that Bjorn was already far away. Another outburst like that was the last thing they needed after such a taxing night.