The world around her writhes with her pain, and it screams alongside her groans. Nerine is alive – so much so – and it trembles with a ferocity that she has known only to exist in the Jungle. Nearby palm trees are whipping in the furious wind as it howls all around her. A storm is brewing. The looming clouds are darkening into shades of steel, some even as black as the velvet night sky. A few flickering glances allow her to see the flashes of lightning overhead, but Nayl is mostly focused on herself and what surrounds her.
Another crack of lightning and it’s as though the sky has opened. Rain pours down and drenches her, soaking through her coat. Even with her world darkening, with pain roiling through her, Nayl’s eyes are lit by an inner fire as she meanders slowly toward the mouth of a cave. It welcomes her in, but she doesn’t venture far into its depths. She turns, albeit sluggish and uncoordinated, and stares out into the raging storm. In silence, she watches as the waves crash against the sand and spray the salty air. In this moment, Nerine is a new kind of fierce beauty.
It’s almost poetic how easily she lowers herself and goes into labor. The kicking and twisting has finally reached a point that she can no longer bare. While the storm chokes the world of any other noise – muffling the sounds of her discomfort – Nayl gives birth.
His first breath is with the clap of thunder. His eyes open as a boulder tumbles down the Cliffside. He sees mother when a flash of lightning illuminates the cave.
”Castile,” she whispers as she leans toward him to brush his damp mohawk, ”My perfect Castile.” The boy peers up at her curiously as he draws in the scent of her, tasting her, remembering her. He says nothing, but lies in wait as she dutifully cleans him all while his gaze drifts toward the turbulent sky. His wings instinctively shift at his sides, but he doesn’t yet move away from his mother. Instead, he quietly yawns and enjoys the weather.
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