Word Count → 000 :: Out of Character text.
Stepping on dead flowers Amy glanced down. Her stomach was beginning to distort, making it difficult to bend, though not yet impossible. At least her feet were still visible, as it was still a small bump. All the pains of pregnancy ran through Amy's mind, recalling the last time this happened. Her stomach had swelled, distorting disgustingly, making movement almost impossible. Movement had become such a pain that Amy had ended up giving up on that end of things, leaving her slaves to do all the work for her. There would be no such luxury this time though.
The sound of another crunching through the snow grabbed Amy's attention. Looking around she spotted a horse grazing near a pale young female. Amy headed over, her body holding a slow sway in it's step. Reaching the canine Amy looked around the small encampment. There wasn't much, the female completely bereft of clothing. Amy looked to the leather in her hands and smiled. A craftsman. Those were always useful to know. Hello. What are you working on?
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