A cry filled the room as a red-haired woman gently wiped the newborn clean with a rag. 

“Its a boy,” she said. A smile broke the bearded face of the new father as the mother now began to slowly calm, her breaths still quick and heavy. 

Robyn grabbed a blanket and started to swaddle the newborn, its frail cries sending her cheeks to flush in awe. At first he protested the wraps, but feeling their warmth his cries began to wane. Gently she pick him up cradling him in her arms. She couldn't help but smile, it felt so natural holding the child close.

“Lets go see mommy, hm?” she said in a soft tenor. 

She handed the baby off to his parents who swooned over the child.

“Do you have a name?” she asked.

“Liam,” the father spoke in his gruffed voice, “My son's name is Liam.” The mother nodded and looked down at her child, “Liam..” 

“Liam,” Robyn repeated, “a nice strong name.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day passed without another patient. It was all just as well. Robyn is quite exhausted after the delivery. It was hard to imagine what the new mother must have felt like. She was the one doing all the work after all. The hardest real work she'd have to do is clean up. 

The room and herself now cleaned she sat down tired in her chair, her blue eyes spying out the window. The sun was dipping below the horizon and a heavy rain was starting to fall. She groaned as she stood up to secure the shutters before dropping back into her chair. With a sigh she snapped her fingers and her candle went alight, casting a soft light onto the desk to which it rested. From the drawer Robyn pulled a small book bound in brown leather and a quill. She started to write.

The crackling fire from the fireplace warmed her back as she wrote. Its warm comfort almost made the ever intensifying rain and thunder outside grow more distant. No, she was just getting more tired, the storm was still going strong, her senses were just fading was all. With a yawn she put out the candle and laid her head on the desk. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

RAP! RAP! RAP!

Robyn burst awake with a gasp, spilling her inkwell in the process, although it was too dark to notice. 

RAP! RAP! RAP! The door rattled again.

She jumped up, somehow full of fresh energy. She was no stranger to frantic raps at her chamber door, but they never meant good news. 

She grabbed the candle and flicked it alight as she lifted up the barricade lock to the door and opened it. Outside stood a man, tall, drenched and hooded, towering over her short stature at the entryway. She had to admit she was taken aback and felt fear well up inside her. 

“Ca-” she started to speak before her blue eyes fell upon an elven man helping some injured from the back of a wagon. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Come! Come inside!” She held the door open before motioning them to place the people on some of the few beds she had. 

“Lay them down. Do you know what happened to them?” 

She placed the candle back onto the desk beside the spilled ink. She wanted to curse at herself for the spill but now was not the time. She knelt down beside the first of the victims and placed her hand over his forehead. He was cold, and sweaty. Looking at his chest the latter question became obvious. He had been stabbed.

Lifting part of the man's shirt she realized how deep the wound actually was. How he had survived that long was surely by luck or fate. She turned to the hooded man and pointed to a shelf which atop sat a glass bottle filled with a dark tea-like fluid. “That bottle right there, can you grab that for me?”

With one arm she supported the dying man's head and the other she extended waiting for the bottle, “Just stay with us, okay?”