11-20-2018, 09:33 PM
Starlin had always thought that she’d have her mother with her when this happened. Somehow, not in all the scenarios that she had considered, was there ever one where she was alone.
Yet here she is.
Even spring in Nerine has a bite to it, but the tobiano mare has long grown used to the fickle wind, and holds her dark head high. Sunlight peeks through, just enough to warm her, just enough to highlight the too-large span of her sides. Without a mother to ask, Starlin can’t know that a foal is not usually quite so large, quite so oddly shaped, not at this stage of the pregnancy. She only knows that she is very tired all the time and that her sides are always bruised and aching.
She is just a horse, after all, a pretty dun mare without a trace of magic in her blood. Her kind aren’t so common anymore. If they were, perhaps someone would have thought to warn her that she is pregnant with a dragon and not a foal. A particularly strong kick rouses her from the doze she had almost begun, and with a weary sigh the sure-fotted mare begins to pick her way down the cliff.
There are few horses at this most northern tip of the land, the wind from the glacial neighbor is enough to frighten all but the boldest down to the protected south shores. Starlin has always been bold. The trail she follows is not for the faint-hearted, but it is the fastest, and soon enough she is ankle deep in the water. The surf has always called to her, even if she has never known why. Mother did not talk about the sea, and so Starlin learned not to ask.
The luke-warm water is the same temperature as the blood that slides down her legs, and it is not until the water below her is tinted red that she realizes what is happening. She is having her baby. Or maybe she is losing it, she is sure that she should not be due for another few months. Is it normal for foals to come this early? She would have asked her mother if she were here, and her mother would have known the answer, known to warn her that the dragon-born tend to develop faster than their mundane relatives.
But one is there to warn her.
Starlin gives birth to a creature the color of storm clouds and seafoam, with bright golden markings that elicit the single word she gives him before her brown eyes fall shut.
"Gilt.”
@[Gilt]
@[Stillwater]
mature warning is for (eventual) character death
Yet here she is.
Even spring in Nerine has a bite to it, but the tobiano mare has long grown used to the fickle wind, and holds her dark head high. Sunlight peeks through, just enough to warm her, just enough to highlight the too-large span of her sides. Without a mother to ask, Starlin can’t know that a foal is not usually quite so large, quite so oddly shaped, not at this stage of the pregnancy. She only knows that she is very tired all the time and that her sides are always bruised and aching.
She is just a horse, after all, a pretty dun mare without a trace of magic in her blood. Her kind aren’t so common anymore. If they were, perhaps someone would have thought to warn her that she is pregnant with a dragon and not a foal. A particularly strong kick rouses her from the doze she had almost begun, and with a weary sigh the sure-fotted mare begins to pick her way down the cliff.
There are few horses at this most northern tip of the land, the wind from the glacial neighbor is enough to frighten all but the boldest down to the protected south shores. Starlin has always been bold. The trail she follows is not for the faint-hearted, but it is the fastest, and soon enough she is ankle deep in the water. The surf has always called to her, even if she has never known why. Mother did not talk about the sea, and so Starlin learned not to ask.
The luke-warm water is the same temperature as the blood that slides down her legs, and it is not until the water below her is tinted red that she realizes what is happening. She is having her baby. Or maybe she is losing it, she is sure that she should not be due for another few months. Is it normal for foals to come this early? She would have asked her mother if she were here, and her mother would have known the answer, known to warn her that the dragon-born tend to develop faster than their mundane relatives.
But one is there to warn her.
Starlin gives birth to a creature the color of storm clouds and seafoam, with bright golden markings that elicit the single word she gives him before her brown eyes fall shut.
"Gilt.”
@[Gilt]
@[Stillwater]
mature warning is for (eventual) character death