#godson;

Far to the north, the snow lay deep on the fells, and 'even at midday there was often no more than a twilit fog. On the rare days when the sun shone, the men could get out for some hunting, but the women were imprisoned in the castle, having not much to do, for strong were the storms and little the light fires and candles offered. Amphelice, idly twirling her spindle-- she hated spinning as much as ever, but the room was too dark for any of the finer work that she loved well-- felt an icy draft from the opened door and looked up. She said in mild reproof, "It is too cold for that, Charles, and you have been complaining of the cold all day; now would you turn us all into icicles? Shut that window," She peered at him over the swell of her belly, feeling herself tremble. "You would be better occupied at having someone make up the fire! I have not once been warm since Midsummer." she complained in a sad little voice, feeling her body ache with a sharp numbness, her stomach cramping; oh how, hard was it, she thought-- to be without her husband! How she missed him! Terribly, achingly so! Amphelice had been so edgy lately that there was no speaking to her at all, but it was natural enough, so near her time. "--and food sickens me-- think you you have problems? look at me!" she half sobbed of a sudden, then, tossing her work aside, soft cheeks aflame with heat and colour. "Would it were summer, that I might have some fruit..."