09-19-2019, 11:46 PM
She had waited, mulled over Castile’s advice, and watched him afar. Partly still from shocked, hurt reticence to interact with one who had forced her into violence to protect her home, and partly because she’s been…busy. Over the course of the winter Noah had pooled all of her resources into a single task – pregnancy. She’d had little care for the strange little stallion except that he didn’t make any more power moves, and she was able to exist quietly in her dreamlike flower world. Because there are flowers here even at the deepest days of winter – her flowers, when natural ones do not grow. The little red mare had grown cumbersomely large and despaired of ever having the ordeal over with; she’d heard of the joys of pregnancy but in her opinion it’s awful and she doesn’t ever want to do it again. She also curses herself for choosing a sire for her child quite a bit taller than herself: Noah is sure that is why she is so fat.
Winter had passed, though, and spring is here, and finally she was able to actually give birth to the little creature growing inside of her, and it’s totally different. Pregnancy was simply the worst, but she can see the joy of parenthood: already she adores the filly tagging along on wobbly legs at her heels, bright eyes taking in everything. She’s a different shade than her mother, a chestnut that promises to be true copper when she loses the baby coat, with brilliant gold and white to frame it. She’s also already got flowers blooming in her fluffy mane and tail, bright wildflowers to match the fields already bursting into bloom around them. The pegasus mare takes a couple days to savor her daughter on her own, introducing herself to everything about their lands, before she finally resigns herself to introducing the girl to the others who reside here.
A huge part of that reluctance is the fear that Aodhan will be the only one. Not because she wants the Pampas full of strangers (she doesn’t) but because she dreads the awkward conversation she’s been avoiding and will be forced to have if they are the only residents. Already, Noah sees his face in her nightmares. Dreams where the mob murders her father in Pangea and he features prominently, even though she knows his is not one of the original faces she had memorized. Still, she finds a shady place under a long-branched tree in the middle of the biggest field, and she politely calls to them – to any of them who may be here. And if a part of her hopes he isn’t, well, under the circumstances she thinks most would forgive her.
“Momma, what are we doing?” the right voice of the filly is louder than Noah’s, for she has known no fear. Noah was raised in fear, the real and imagined fears of her father, and her childhood capped off by an experience that she will never quite recover from. She moves gracefully and speaks in whispers because it is safer than way, a life in hiding. Noah has already resolved her daughter will not live that life. So: “We’re going to meet some friends,” she says quietly, hoping her daughter will not hear the doubt in her voice. “The people we live with.”
Winter had passed, though, and spring is here, and finally she was able to actually give birth to the little creature growing inside of her, and it’s totally different. Pregnancy was simply the worst, but she can see the joy of parenthood: already she adores the filly tagging along on wobbly legs at her heels, bright eyes taking in everything. She’s a different shade than her mother, a chestnut that promises to be true copper when she loses the baby coat, with brilliant gold and white to frame it. She’s also already got flowers blooming in her fluffy mane and tail, bright wildflowers to match the fields already bursting into bloom around them. The pegasus mare takes a couple days to savor her daughter on her own, introducing herself to everything about their lands, before she finally resigns herself to introducing the girl to the others who reside here.
A huge part of that reluctance is the fear that Aodhan will be the only one. Not because she wants the Pampas full of strangers (she doesn’t) but because she dreads the awkward conversation she’s been avoiding and will be forced to have if they are the only residents. Already, Noah sees his face in her nightmares. Dreams where the mob murders her father in Pangea and he features prominently, even though she knows his is not one of the original faces she had memorized. Still, she finds a shady place under a long-branched tree in the middle of the biggest field, and she politely calls to them – to any of them who may be here. And if a part of her hopes he isn’t, well, under the circumstances she thinks most would forgive her.
“Momma, what are we doing?” the right voice of the filly is louder than Noah’s, for she has known no fear. Noah was raised in fear, the real and imagined fears of her father, and her childhood capped off by an experience that she will never quite recover from. She moves gracefully and speaks in whispers because it is safer than way, a life in hiding. Noah has already resolved her daughter will not live that life. So: “We’re going to meet some friends,” she says quietly, hoping her daughter will not hear the doubt in her voice. “The people we live with.”