A cry rang out into the early morning air of the jungle followed by a heavy thunk that resounded off the earthen floor of the little hut. Cleante was moving through the forest, headed for her precious bean plants, when she was greeted by that most awful noise. As the elder woman poked her head into the dense vegetation she was again greeted by that sound; a sound most definitely human. As she placed the small sachet of beans in her pocket another holler rang out. Cleante moved swiftly though the greenery towards the unknown sounds trying to be undetectable if they were unfriendly. As she entered a well-known clearing, she again heard the gut-wrenching cries. Cleante picked up her pace, her silvery hair flowing around her as she crumbled numerous flowers in her midst. She slowed when she finally met the house of her dear friend, that odd little woman of many lies, the raven haired Marguerite. She called out to her while running frantically towards the little sodie. When Cleante had finally entered the small abode, she found a slumped Marguerite frantically clutching her stomach.
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The hunter smashed his right fist into the skull of unsuspecting guard as he fled half-hazard away from the compound. His partner had died, for reasons Roxton cared not to think about. He had been unchained for merely less than a minute before the man bolted into the night. The captors weren't inhuman; no man would be tied to a corpse. As a bullet crashed into his left knee, the hunter collapsed into a heap of flesh on the jungle floor. He cries for help went unheard as the men rebound and led him back to the pit.
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Marguerite was in terrible pain. She had been re-dressing after a most glorious mid-day bath in the ocean, when the baby lurched inside of her. She could do nothing but trudge the countless miles back to the small home. When she reached indoors, the heiress buckled from exhaustion and fell to the floor. She could do nothing but scream in agony. It's too soon. I can't do this alone. I won't do this alone.
When Cleante found her Marguerite was huddled by the bed feverishly muttering something about broken promises and a late Roxton. Cleante was too worried to be confused. She helped the dark-haired lady into the small bed, and examined her. The baby wouldn't wait. As Cleante laid out the medical supplies, Marguerite laid in disappointed anguish a tear visible on her cheek.