the courage of stars; larisa, makai

[Oksana]

you taught me the courage of the stars before you left

how light carries on endlessly, even after death

She had known the moment when it came, like so many before it. A tightening in her stomach, in her heart, a smile etched gracefully across a red whiskered mouth. She knew this pain, this anticipation, this glory like an old friend.

It was time to be a mother again.

There was nothing special about the spot she picked, nothing special save for the dark as night stallion who kept his distance in the nearest shadows. She had spent the day fretting quietly at his side, her face pressed to the curve of his shoulder and his mouth tasting the sweat darkening her neck. But as soon as the contractions had come closer, like ripples around a stone dropped in a pond, she had pushed him away. This effort was nothing she needed him to see.

It didn’t take long after her legs had buckled beneath her until a second shape had joined her in the crush of soft emerald grass. The child was small, so impossibly small as they always seemed to be, and her skin was the most beautiful brown and white Oksana had ever seen. But it made her think of Malis, that same mottled brown and white, their first – and oh, how they had let her down. It would be different this time, though. Oksana could feel that hope like a vow in her chest, breaking bones and spilling marrow.

For a second she tore her tired emerald eyes from the delicate filly nestled at her belly and traced the shadow within a shadow, the shape she knew to be Makai. It felt impossible that her heart could ache any more than it already did, but in that moment she felt it explode with warmth and pleasure and all the things that for once felt right in her strange world.

Turning back to the girl, to their beautiful, perfect daughter, she stretched her downy wings wide to block to the chill in the air. “Larisa.” She breathed, her mouth pressed possessively against the damp brown and white of her skin. “My beautiful Larisa.”

oksana

[Makai]

makai

Makai was not a particularly accomplished father. He had abandoned his children—and those who did have the privilege / misfortune of knowing him were gifted with such lavish pleasures as inheriting his own personal brand of torment and agony. Makai would never forget the anguish burning in Malis’ eyes when they had collided in the meadow—that knowledge, deep in his belly, that she only felt this way because she had him as a father. He was diseased and he poisoned everything that he touched. He was an illness that continued to give back in all the wrong ways, contaminating the water that they all drank.

But this knowledge did not stop him from loving this moment. This knowledge did not stop him from hovering around Oksana all day, worrying about the pangs in her stomach and the exertion darkening her coat. It did not stop him from hiding in the shadows when she finally lowered herself, his coal eyes burning with his fears and his hopes and the impossible love clogging his throat. It did not stop him because he was selfish, and despite the fact that he was poorly equipped to be a father, he still wanted to be one.

When air first met the flesh of their newly born daughter, he drew in a sharp intake of his breath, and his chest ached with the similarity to Malis. His heart twisted painfully, and he took an unbidden step forward, his expression flayed open with all of the vulnerabilities exposed. Oksana whispered his daughter’s name, and he took more steps to their side, standing over them and looking down with his eyes wide and rung with white and his nostrils flaring. He took a steadying breath, gathering himself, before he reached down, mouth brushing over the daughter. “Larisa. My sweet Larisa.” Then, to Oksana, “My love. She's perfect.”

you're the fire and the flood
and I'll always feel you in my blood