(AUTHOR NOTE: I WILL REFER TO THE VILLAGE HEAD'S WIFE AS ELDER.)
**
Someone else huffed. "Well, I've already prayed to the gods. If luck's on my side, I'll be the one to bear his seed tonight."
The elder raised both her hands slowly, silencing the ongoing chatter. The murmurs faded almost instantly, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of shifting cloth.
"The third boy we had," she began, her voice steady but tinged with concern, "is currently unwell. As you all know, it's because of the curse."
A collective sigh swept through the gathering, heavy and heartfelt. Heads lowered. Some women exchanged looks of sympathy; others simply clenched their hands in their laps, frustration etched in their faces.
"I saw him yesterday," one woman whispered. "His skin was pale as snow. He could barely lift his head."
"Poor child," another added. "He was always so lively."
The village head's wife gave them a moment before continuing.
