02-23-2018, 01:10 PM
This is not the first time the girl has felt the urge to lay to lay an egg; but it is the first time that she cares about what happens to it. Before, there was never a chance of the eggs she had laid bearing any sort of fruit; in fact, many were so fragile and empty that they broke into a million indecipherable pieces as soon as they reached the ground. But this time, the mare knows that there may be a young life inside the shell, and she is not sure what to do about that fact. She doesn’t know if her eggs need to be incubated, and she’s quite certain sitting on one for the next however months it takes to hatch is not an option, for any number of reasons.
So that leaves the duo looking for an appropriate, warm place to stash an egg that has the potential to grow very large. How else will it hatch into a foal? Dagny is unsure of the mechanics, but she supposes she will learn them. Her golden brother follows dutifully behind her, quiet, eyes constantly on the lookout. Once, he was the flashier of the two of them, his naturally almost shimmery champagne pelt a solid light gold, framed by hazel-green eyes and a long spiraling horn. But then had come the quest, and his chestnut and white sister had become marked with blue and yellow, and then later had come the other things. The egg laying, and the wings, and the other thing. But she doesn’t have wings right now – Olivier can’t fly, and so Dagny often still walks beside her twin, eschewing flight for when she really needs it.
They’ve come to Tephra because of the volcano. Because volcanos are warm, so where better to leave it? They’ve made their way quietly onto the side of the volcano and wander up and down, looking for a place. It’s Ollie that finally spots one, a deep crater that looks like it will cradle a precious cargo, no matter its size. It also has a vent at the bottom and occasionally spews hot air – a perfect incubator. He shifts a few errant rocks out of the way with his horn, making the floor of the crevasse smooth and free of debrid, and steps away. The rest is her job.
So she does. It’s both easier and harder than the other times; there is weight to this egg, which makes it uncomfortable but yet easier to pass. She’s afraid of the drop, afraid when this egg shatters it won’t be empty shell that stares her in the face, but some sort of half-formed foal to haunt her dreams. But to her vast surprise when it drops there is a faint plopping sound, and she whirls around and blinks at the creamy egg in the divot. A tentative touch from her muzzle reveals that the shell is soft and leathery to the touch, not hard like the empty eggs had been at all. Weird. And it’s small, too small to be a foal, but the texture gives her hope it will grow.
She steps away from it with a last caress and he presses his body to hers, a kiss to her sweaty neck, and they watch the egg for probably an hour before turning to go back to the Kingdom proper.
So that leaves the duo looking for an appropriate, warm place to stash an egg that has the potential to grow very large. How else will it hatch into a foal? Dagny is unsure of the mechanics, but she supposes she will learn them. Her golden brother follows dutifully behind her, quiet, eyes constantly on the lookout. Once, he was the flashier of the two of them, his naturally almost shimmery champagne pelt a solid light gold, framed by hazel-green eyes and a long spiraling horn. But then had come the quest, and his chestnut and white sister had become marked with blue and yellow, and then later had come the other things. The egg laying, and the wings, and the other thing. But she doesn’t have wings right now – Olivier can’t fly, and so Dagny often still walks beside her twin, eschewing flight for when she really needs it.
They’ve come to Tephra because of the volcano. Because volcanos are warm, so where better to leave it? They’ve made their way quietly onto the side of the volcano and wander up and down, looking for a place. It’s Ollie that finally spots one, a deep crater that looks like it will cradle a precious cargo, no matter its size. It also has a vent at the bottom and occasionally spews hot air – a perfect incubator. He shifts a few errant rocks out of the way with his horn, making the floor of the crevasse smooth and free of debrid, and steps away. The rest is her job.
So she does. It’s both easier and harder than the other times; there is weight to this egg, which makes it uncomfortable but yet easier to pass. She’s afraid of the drop, afraid when this egg shatters it won’t be empty shell that stares her in the face, but some sort of half-formed foal to haunt her dreams. But to her vast surprise when it drops there is a faint plopping sound, and she whirls around and blinks at the creamy egg in the divot. A tentative touch from her muzzle reveals that the shell is soft and leathery to the touch, not hard like the empty eggs had been at all. Weird. And it’s small, too small to be a foal, but the texture gives her hope it will grow.
She steps away from it with a last caress and he presses his body to hers, a kiss to her sweaty neck, and they watch the egg for probably an hour before turning to go back to the Kingdom proper.
Dagny & Olivier
I won't let you go; so don't let go of me
no one can ever follow; no one can ever know