The next morning, the sun was high when Pankhudi finally stirred. She woke not to the gentle hum of the Dai Maa's herbs, but to a vast, gaping emptiness in her core. Her first conscious thought was of the raw, tearing pain, and the terrifying, cold wetness that had flooded her in the carriage. Her hand flew instantly to her abdomen. It was flat. Soft. Empty.

She let out a low, heart-rending whimper.