MOONLINGS

The squalling cry was piercing, thin and even frail. But Maud's hearing was trained to pick up on just such a pitch. With a grunt of dismay she swiftly hushed with a habitual tightening to her jaw. Maud dropped what she had been doing and followed that piercing sound to her window. She unlatched the old fashioned knob and shifted up the heavy slab of wood. There were no actual glassy windows here, there was no need for it. The landscape outside was as barren as the rest of the land. She suffered from no sudden urge to actually want to peep out at it. Indeed the sight that met her gaze when she actually did was more than regrettable. Framed against a dreary backdrop was and even more dreary looking blanket, Smudged, worn and tattered, it cloaked a frail looking newborn, offering little protection against the harsh weather outside. The winds blew abysmally and its wail contrasted not much from that of the tiny infant. Maud's gaze shot up instantly to the di