Deravia was shoving a couch into place at its new home across the room, levering it against her ample rear and nicely padded hip and shoving with her legs to get it to move, when the phone rang. Panting, she heaved herself fully upright, taking a moment to crack a vertebrae, one hand resting on her round belly, and catch her breath before waddling over to where the portable phone rested. It was all the way in the bedroom; how it had gotten there, she didn't remember. Maybe Elsarin had been using it. Thank all the gods and goddesses there were he wasn't home, at least; he would insist on moving things for her, saying that she shouldn't exert herself, and that was just plain annoying.

"This is such a goddess-blessed technologically advanced place," she puffed as the grating ring sounded again, "you'd think they'd figure out how to make goddess-blessed voice-activated telephones!" The phone just chirped at her again, balefully, and she picked up her skirts and hurried to catch it. Hurrying, in her current state, was rather uncomfortable.

For Deravia was pregnant, and very heavily so. Elves, or her brand of elves anyway, had a similar gestation period to humans, and after eight and a half months, the bulk of which had been spent in discomfort of one kind or another, Deravia was heartily glad it was almost over. Waddling was not her favorite mode of transportation, and neither were the restroom or bed her favorite destination; the former she had to visit far more often than she preferred to, with her bladder so squished by Baby as to be nearly nonexistent, and the latter her husband was always trying to lead her to, insisting that she rest. Nor was she particularly fond of people thinking her stomach was public property, for when one was pregnant, everyone seemed to think they were allowed to put their hands on the bulge, smiling indulgently or excitedly, hoping for a kick right then. More often than not, Baby indulged them, much to the annoyance and discomfort of Mommy. Baby was, after all, very active.

Baby actually had a name, one supposedly traditional to Elsarin, her husband's, family: Alamathennarin, an unholy long mess of syllables which Deravia refused to apply to her child, even in her thoughts. When she did think about the unborn, it was either Baby or, if she was feeling charitable, (or tired of arguing with Elsarin about it), Thenna, a much shorter version of that hideous "traditional" name which was much easier to remember, pronounce, and compromise on. Elsarin didn't care about the nickname, and insisted on using the full mess of letters whenever he spoke about or, worse, to the unborn. How a grown man, an elf no less, had learned so much baby-talk was beyond her.

Not that she was above a little "baby-talk" now and then, but of a more literal nature and in a much more practical fashion: via emotions. Infants, her mother had always told her, were highly empathic, if they were anything at all. So young, the unborn had trouble forming coherent words, in large part, Deravia guessed, because they simply didn't know any words yet. Language had to be learned, after all, even in thoughts. So, when she communicated with her own unborn infant, which she did often, she used a more literal form of "baby-talk" by sending and receiving emotions. Deravia was a fairly accomplished telepath, and being connected to her child's body only made the sendings that much clearer, essential in this case, because what she got was often so muddled that it took a lot of intuition, guesswork, and luck to figure out what was meant by it. Simply radiating unhappiness didn't tell her how to fix whatever was wrong.

The unborn, just Baby today as Deravia wasn't feeling very charitable, towards her or her father, was currently restless. How one could be restless when they had no concept of anywhere to go, her mother didn't know, but Baby was indeed restless, and it was irritating Mommy. Hence, the rearrangement of the furniture, for lack of anything else constructive to do. It also made getting to the phone annoying, because Baby was full of hope that they were going someplace special. It was a distinct disappointment to her that her mother's purposeful waddle ended with nothing but an end to the shrill ringing noise that, having never seen a telephone, she didn't understand and thus didn't think about.

"Hello?" Deravia asked upon picking up the receiver. Even to her own ears she sounded snappish, but then, she was pregnant, hot, and tired; she was allowed to be a bit snappish.

"Miss Astilith? Deravia Astilith?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"I'm from the Ministry of Flights and Hatchings," the polite voice answered. "I'm calling because you're signed up for the next hatching."

Ah, it was one of those phone calls. "Yes, I am. Which bay will it be this time?"

"Uh-- Bay Four. How did you--"

"This is the fifth hatching I've attended," Deravia interrupted, anticipating his question, with a little amusement. "I know what these phone calls sound like now. About how much time do I have?"

"Oh, at least an hour. They're only just stirring; we got plenty of warning."

"All right, thank you. I'll be there soon."

"You're welcome. Good luck."

"I'll need it," Deravia grumbled as she hung up. Four hatchings so far now-- four!-- and not even a hint of interest from the dragons. Though this one had rather poor timing, so close to her due date, she figured it would be better to hope for a bonding at this one than the next clutch due, which was full of vicious monsters of various types. She thought she might even skip the next one, if she didn't impress herself a hatchling this time. She would be too busy bearing and settling in with her firstborn by the time it hatched, anyway, too busy to settle in a new dragon, as well. For that matter, trying to settle in a new dragon now would be a hassle... though a welcome one. It would be more constructive than the stereotypical nesting behaviors of rearranging furniture at home or the office, anyway, and Deravia liked to be constructive.

So she had an hour or more. It was safer, she thought, to assume less, so she made as much haste as her bloated body could manage to get ready. At least the trip down shouldn't take long. She took a rushed, five-minute shower to rinse off and relax her tired muscles just a little, wishing she enough notice to take her usual half-hour shower and really feel clean, then hunted down something nice to put on. There were plenty of nice clothes lying around; unfortunately, not all of them were for a figure quite in the shape she currently had to wear. "Thank the gods above that I'm almost done with this," she muttered as she struggled into one of the maternity-shaped gowns, one with lots of rich amber and warm mahogany. Earth-tones were her preference, and most of her clothing was made in those colors.

She was just finishing brushing out her now-dry hair-- a magically assisted blow-drier could work miracles, even on a mane as thick and long as Deravia's-- with more than half an hour to spare, preparing to waddle out the door, when Elsarin came striding in through the door that slid open for his recognized presence. "Dera?" he said, blinking at her, standing there looking her best-- or what passed for her best, these days-- as if she were heading out to something important and hadn't invited him.

"No time to talk, dear," she said briskly, setting down her brush and gathering her hair up with a ribbon. "The latest clutch is hatching, and I need to be on my way."

"Hatching?!" he exclaimed. He was a lovely young man-- tall, slender, silky, dark blonde hair, and gorgeous blue eyes-- but he was a bit thick.

"Yes, Els," she repeated patiently, "hatching. Right now, in fact. If you'll excuse me? I'd really rather not miss it." She headed for the door, which still had him standing in it.

"I'll come, too!" he said firmly, in that half-anxious, half-protective, and entirely stubborn tone he had been taking with her ever since he'd come home from his last excursion to find her five months along with his firstborn. Deravia privately thought he was overreacting in part because he felt guilty for not being around very often, as adventurous and free-roaming as he was, for he could hardly know how much of a relief it was to have a husband who didn't hover and didn't stick his nose into her own business. The fact that he had been doing both for the past three months, determined to do his duty as husband and father, was driving her positively mad. She usually ended up chasing him away after a few hours of his cosseting at a time.

This time, though, if he expected an argument, he would be disappointed. She flashed him a sweet smile and said, "Of course, dear. I would hate for you to miss watching my bonding, after all, if it should happen this time."

Leaving him with his mouth open, she swept out of the apartment as gracefully as she could, letting him scramble to catch up as he would. She had a hatching to get to.

Chapter Two

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