"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Under the cover of darkness, the rich smell of damp earth and old leaves briefly permeates the adoption den, perfumed with the sweet scent of vibrant jungle flowers. The shadows thicken and darken, coalescing into a ball before dispersing to reveal a small bundle of fur nestled into the long grass, barely visible amidst the greenery. A tiny filly lies curled up there, all soft golden tones framed and coated in black as though fire climbed her limbs, singeing her shoulders and hips and crawling along her back and neck, leaving soot in its wake.
Oh, but not all of the shadows that heralded her arrival have disappeared; some cling in wisps to the little girl’s back, forming the vague shape of wings folded close to her body. She stirs, shifting slightly in her sleep as a soft whuff of air escapes her tiny lungs. Those barely-there wings rustle, spreading out and resettling against her, blanketing more of her dappled sides as though shadows could somehow keep her warm.
She is, after all, used to much warmer conditions than a late summer evening in the den provides. The cozy heat of being cradled inside her mother’s body, followed just briefly by the sweltering heat of the jungle during the warmest part of the year. Such an abrupt transition, but at least she was dried off and cleaned up in the process. So new, she hasn’t even opened her eyes yet, and the intervention of a passing fairy fills her belly and allows her to sleep on a little longer still. And so she does, a little smile curving up the corner of her mouth as she sinks into another dream and waits.
Loneliness lures her from the Gates. There is no one yet that she has met or attached herself to and so she has continues her days in solitude. The pain of it is excruciating; it rips at her heart day after day, beat after beat. Her life had been spent with her brothers and her parents. They had a family – dysfunctional, but still bonded – and a home, but it has tapered to an end as the triplets grew and mother disappeared with the seasons. Perhaps then Cerva should be well adapted to isolation, but she finds herself wanting to avoid that. There are voids in her heart that she wants – needs – filled. Success won’t be the glue to hold her together; it’s family, it’s love that she truly desires most.
The idea of children bundled alone in a meadow is a knife that buries deep into her broken heart. She has never seen it herself (why would she?) because the gods found it fit to bless her with parents that were willing to keep her around. Others, however, seem to not be quite so fortunate.
Her eyes hungrily rove and sift through the tall grass. Nightfall is looming ever nearer. Cerva glances up to the moon and smiles fondly as it tries to peek through the clouds. In her other form she is nocturnal and so being here, like this, is confusing her own body. While she would generally be asleep during the day she is instead trying to accustom herself to what may be considered normal. Cerva slowly blinks with her nose still lifted to stare at the sky, but a soft rustling brings her attention to this forgotten field where children lie in wait for their futures. A smile trembles across her lips when she sees the girl (so young, so innocent) shift in her sleep and shuffle her intangible wings. Unfamiliar with motherhood, Cerva hesitates. A long moment is spent watching the foal peacefully slumber beneath the porcelain moonlight. It’s almost entrancing to watch the shadows seemingly flicker and ripple across her coat.
Does she wake the child, or let her rest?
A lump forms in Cerva’s throat as she lifts her eyes to look in each direction prior to falling back on the young one. ”Hello, sweet girl,” her voice is a lullaby, so gentle and sweet as her legs buckle and slowly lower her body down into the grass. Whether the child wakes or not Cerva lies close, protective and concerned. She says nothing more as the night’s orchestra begins to play around them.
The small girl stirs restlessly in her sleep, rustling the grass just a little, repositioning her wispy little shadow wings to try to cover more of her sides. Her body shivers a little, and she is about to open her eyes and look around when a gentle voice soothes her and warmth wraps itself around her. Instead of waking, she nestles into the unfamiliar scent, breathing the stranger in and learning what home smells like against her skin.
She does not sleep for too terribly long, however. Gradually she wakes, her head pillowed on a strange shoulder, listening to the comforting rhythm of a heart beating beneath her ear. Warm brown eyes with a hint of gold open for the first time, and she blinks sleepily up at the woman who has kept her so cozy. “Momma?” she asks, and though the smell isn’t the one she remembers, she thinks perhaps the word could fit anyhow.
The little one yawns and cuddles closer, in no hurry to rise when rising is colder and much less comfortable, and hunger does not gnaw at her belly to prod her to her feet for a feeding. She does, however, stretch her limbs, legs and wings all, before pulling them back in against her body once again. The freedom to do so is lovely, even if she rather misses being held tight in the dark and surrounded by the steady thud of someone’s heart beating alongside her own.
Cerva isn’t familiar with the beauty of motherhood, just as she has never experienced the elation of love. She has always been deprived of it although her heart always longs for it, like it is the missing puzzle piece to happiness. It fuels her to keep going because she knows she was brought into this world to do more than just hide in her underground burrow. Although she lacks the ambition and power mother and father had – have – she realizes that there is still a destiny tethered to her, never leaving her no matter the choices she takes.
So is this the beginning of her life, truly?
Fascinated and washed with adoration, Cerva smiles. Her eyes follow the rise and fall of the girl’s breath until she finally awakens. Her eyelashes flutter when their gaze meets, holding it steadily as she searches Cerva and bleats a simple question. Much to her surprise, the girl’s stomach berths butterflies that swarm so heavily and abundantly that she could burst. The grin on her face broadens and trembles just for a quick moment as she calculates exactly what to say. Her tongue peeks out and dryly sweeps across her lips. ”I can be,” she whispers softly as the filly nestles closer, their bodies coming together perfectly. Cerva reaches forward and admiringly lips the child’s forelock while her mind dances in many different directions, her elation evident in her brightened eyes. ”And we can live in the Gates together.” Having her there would ease the pain of solitude for both of them. It would be their beginnings to saving each other.
”What is your name, sweet girl?” She asks, almost forgetting in the excitement, her heart fluttering for the first time in years.
