Contractions hit Strelitzia hard, growing stronger with each passing hour until all she could do was lay on her back and wait for her little girl to finally make her way into the world. Even though there had been no signs of anyone following after them–her, since little James' body was within a cold shallow grave marked only by a pile of stones–she was too terrified to cry out aloud, to vocalize the pain of having her child tear from her womb. She balled up the collar of her stained garment that was a macabre painting of old blood and new, stuffing it into her mouth to stifle the echoes of pain.