"It is master's seed," the fourth said quietly. She was the sharp-eyed one, pale, with bluish eyes that missed very little. "You have heard the healers whisper. His seed does not wait for calendars."
"Can we have it too?" the youngest blurted, and then went red to her ears. Nineteen years old and hopeless at hiding anything. "I mean. The fast kind. Can we... I am not saying with the master, I am saying in general, hypothetically..."
"Hush." The sharp-eyed one sighed and shook her head. "It does not matter. You already know how it is for us. I can never be a mother. None of us will be, in service here."
The youngest's face fell. The chubby one patted her shoulder, and they walked the rest of the hall in a small, sad silence, four women in identical uniforms carrying four different sizes of hope.
Then they reached the door, and the sadness died of embarrassment.
