(Nova POV)
Month five arrived on a quiet morning in early autumn.
The air in the solar carried the first true bite of the season — crisp, smelling of pine resin and distant woodsmoke from the lower hearths. The windows stood open; a soft wind moved the sheer curtains in slow, lazy waves. Sunlight slanted across the floor in long golden bars, catching motes of dust and turning them into tiny stars.
I had woken early — too early — the kind of wakefulness that comes when the body is growing something bigger than itself. I lay on my side beneath the furs, one hand resting on the now-prominent curve of my belly, feeling the slow, rolling movements that had become as familiar as my own heartbeat.
