Everything focuses into that one, tiny action. Anna's barely had a chance to response when Elsa wrenches away, letting out a heartbreaking cry of pain.
Even without direction from the midwife, her body knows what it needs to do.
Elsa's so tired. She's so sore. Part of her is desperate for this to be over, desperate to be done with it.
Another part wishes for more time.
"A-Anna," she says between contractions and pushes. "Anna, can you see if the baby... if it looks okay?"
There's really only one thing she could be talking about.