SERAPHINA "SERA" MORTEZ'S POINT OF VIEW
"Whoa, easy now—you're gonna be fine, sweetheart! Just hold on a little longer, okay? Sidor! Step on it, but for God's sake, watch the potholes!"
Mercing's voice cuts through the rattle of the tricycle's engine, sharp with panic. I sit rigid against the wooden bench, my hands wrapped around my belly as the vehicle bounces over the last stretch of dirt road. She's more on edge than I am, and I'm the one whose body is clenching in waves of pain. I keep my breath slow and deep, focusing on the rhythm; panic will only make the contractions worse, and she's already wound tight enough for both of us.
"Settle down, Mercing! Look at her, she's keeping her head straight, and she's the one having the baby, not you!" Sidor calls back over his shoulder, his hands steady on the handlebars as we hit smooth pavement.
