-: My tomb, is it prepared for my death?

The woman resting on a bed of wood and dry straw, looked at the wall of her dark house once again, as she turned her clear eyes to the man who had placed his feet inside the door. In his vision, he silently contemplated the boy who had been given into his hands yesterday in the middle of a cold blizzard night. 

Well, he was no longer a boy.

Yes, I made him high up on a hill, surrounded by a good view and close to the sky. As the lady asked. -

She nodded. The boy's dark eyes passed over Monica, making her remember the past. Precisely 19 years ago, when everything began and her life changed forever. 

Monica was a nun, raised in a nunnery in the center of the Gloucestershire village, and was in the prime of her youth at the age of 25. As a good church woman, she fulfilled daily duties, and on this day she had gone out in search of fine branches of wood. Her adventurous spirit as a nature lover always made her go far, even to the point of forgetting her goal.

 However, on this particular day, when Monica was exploring the area, she noticed something different when she heard a woman's cries of pain coming from an old house that seemed abandoned.

This inn was cold and lonely, far away from the small civilization of the place, more precisely entering the forest of Dean. A large forest, full of small animals and fruits that were good to eat. There was also a small stream that crossed the house, leading into the woods and following an ever increasing stream. 

From Monica's eyes, it was not a habitable and good place to live, as the violent English winter drew nearer and nearer. A dwelling built on the edge of a stream, on a freezing night, would cause the river to freeze too, and more snow to crowd in between all those spaces around the woods.

:- "I wonder where this woman's husband is, who leaves her alone suffering on an afternoon near winter?"

Monica thought for a moment, and curious at the cry moved closer to get a better view. She crossed the small route, veering off course at the entrance to that forest, arriving within yards of the inn that now seemed silent again. 

In all honesty, Monica had previously seen that place as abandoned, for the conditions once again frightened her. The doors and windows had broken gaps that needed repair, and the ceiling was held up by thin wooden beams that seemed to fall at any moment.

 Lost in thought, another scream cut her ears. 

She promptly froze in the doorway. 

To tell the truth, she didn't even know she had gotten so close. Her courage now seemed to drain more and more from her body, but something in Monica said that she needed to go in. Maybe it was her heart, for her mind was in another place, telling her to run and not to appear there anymore.

 Monica was now deeply worried, because no one came for the woman. That scream was painful, painful to the ears. It sounded as lonely as a bird that loses its nest, or a wolf lost from its pack. It was loud, sad and alone.

Mustering a courage that does not exist in herself in this situation, the nun finally entered the place. After waiting for someone who never came, she pushed the old wooden door with some force.

 Right at the entrance, she found a small amount of game meat hanging from the support beam. Next to it was a small, unlit furnace, with a few sticks stacked beside it, and a table with old crockery held a few dishes made of clay. There were no vegetables and legumes of the time, only that fillet of meat almost in the pure carcass of what was left of the animal, looking like a wild pig.

The woman then looked over and saw a cloth hanging at the entrance of what looked like a room, followed by the sound of a light sigh in between cut through the air. She took a strong breath, filled her lungs with air, clenched her hands into fists, and made her way there.

She entered, and looked around. The room had a sad atmosphere, and was lit only by the cracks in the wood of the house. Monica had difficulty seeing, for the sun had almost broken through the mountains, and it was getting dark. The woman in the room kept sighing, and seemed not to hear that someone else had broken into the inn.

Monica then hurried to the window on the side and removed the stick that held it, illuminating the whole room precariously. Only then, when the light came in, the woman was surprised and opened her eyes. Who's there? Who are you, and how did you get in here? - She raised herself up on her elbows on the thin bed of straw. Sweat dripped down her forehead, her copper-blond hair was sticking everywhere.

Monica shivered slightly and let go of the already partially opened window. Looking in front of her a surprise struck her eyes, and made her put her hands to her mouth.

- For Jesus Christ! - The nun's eyes were staring at the woman's belly, which between the bedclothes formed a large bulge. A belly so large, that by local understanding it could only be that of multiple children. That girl was pregnant, and had little fat on her body, she was thin to the point that the bones in her arms and neck were evident. Her large blonde hair shone in the light, accompanied by green eyes expressed in full pain. Monica sadly saw a lost beauty, and promptly recanted:

- Madam, please do not be afraid of my person. I am a nun who comes from Gloucestershire to gather wood for the winter. Please forgive my intrusion, but I couldn't help but overhear and ignore this house far from the village. - Monica in full nervousness gestured with her hands, trying to explain herself, and quickly asked: - Your Ladyship, where is your husband? How can he leave you alone in this remote place with a child in your belly?

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