i'm volatile and afraid to cry | birthing - gendry/any

[Kimber]

let me tell you something baby,
you love me for everything you hate me for
The past few days have been a blur, she grew weaker by the minute and had been laboring for what seemed like an eternity. As night fell on the far side of the mountain, the dip-dye mare found herself pushing forward to it's coveted shadows as her wings lifted her to a plateau, a perch if you would so she could see any approaching danger. Her wings fold in effortlessly as her knees drop and she stretches out, an exasperated sigh making it's way from her black maw. She had sworn that she wouldn't touch a man again but she knows that all of this was not completely her doing; Gendry was skilled at a few things and planting seeds (no pun intended) was only the start of it. She tries to quiet her mind, telling herself to relax and to fret not of what others will think and eventually it works. Her breathing becomes less labored and more rhythmic, spare the contractions where her belly grows rock solid. She carries on for hours like this, lulls full of nothing and boughts of pressure and pain - her forelock is drenched with sweat, her wings stretched out to attempt to cool her body as she slowly starts to push. She thinks back now to the twins and remembers it to be less painful than now but it does her no good to compare. She tires easily and stops for a few minutes before proceeding, she is all alone, on a mountain where relatively no one can reach her. "What a great idea, you idiot." she brokenly murmurs to herself as she begins to push again, the tugging makes her feel squeamish but she pushes forward as she does with all other things.

Hours pass, she fades in and out of conscious more than she'd like to admit but she can see the sunrise on the horizon - it would be daylight soon and someone would notice her absence....more importantly some family of wolves of other creatures would likely find them. She knows better than to call out a name, whose would she call? Gendry? Nymph? Killdare? She hears the howls of a pack nearby and it sends her into distress - her eyes grow wild with fear, while her heartbeat quickens and courses through her body. Her head drops below her withers by her hooves as she grunts, straining to push as hard and efficiently as she can. you are so weak. she thinks to herself and shakes her head with disappointment. She tells herself one more push and she will be done, the child will be here.

The black begins stretching from the corners inward; a gush of blood, a rush of warmth, a thud and then darkness.

**********
There was a thick film over his eyes, but he takes breaths anyway - the mucus flooding backing his nostrils and out as he stirs about breaking loose from it. He doesn't stand, he doesn't open his eyes but he can sense her; feel her - the navy and rust boy simply speaks, "Mama?"

So Kimber got 'extremely weak after giving birth' in my stats so I played on that. Help the baby

[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

The magic I worked with Pazuzu to bring Drow's triplets into the world was the most amazing thing I have done in a long damn time. It felt good, to do something beautiful for my son. To welcome my daughter's love into the family in such a profound way. It felt...like being part of a real family again, instead of having all my children scattered to the winds. Still, it's different now. Those children each have their own little families, and they need time to bond on their own. So once the girls are fed and everyone is settled in, I take to the sky on wings for once not draconic.

No, there's no need to be something great and powerful to inspire terror in the hearts of those who see my silhouette against the sky. Tonight I'll settle for ordinary and inconspicuous, and take the shape of an owl. I follow the quiet tug of instinct and impulse, and the closer I get to the Chamber, the more urgent the pull. Ignoring kingdom boundaries and etiquette, I fly across the mountain range to a plateau just in time to see a struggling stranger bleeding out a child.

Well hell.

I land on the woman, careful not to damage her any further with my sharp talons. In fact, no need for them to be sharp just now; I dull them and start scanning her body, flooding her with a wash of healing energy, doing what I can to replace lost blood and repair what her body will allow. I hate it when they resist, but just like my Drow, sometimes they need the pain, or the damage. Sometimes their souls hold onto wounds I could patch up with a thought. Still, hers knows what she needs, and if it's a slow healing process then so be it. At least she will survive. I can make sure of that much.

When I have done all I can, I fly over to the boy, taking on a horse shape for just long enough to reassure a potentially frightened child. “Mama's going to be okay, little love,” I murmur, touching my nose to his shoulder. A tingle of connection flickers between us at that touch, but I know I'm intruding where I perhaps should not. “Just be brave a little longer, huh, sweet boy? Soon. She'll be with you soon.”

I should leave, should fly away on easily overlooked bird wings. A blue jay, or a crow perhaps. But I won't leave the child unprotected while he waits for his mother to come to. Instead I stand over the little one, a stranger in a land that could have been my home in a life I never got to live, wearing a skin that weighs strangely on my shoulders. Black, just a hint of feathering on my legs, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing remarkable, not even my eyes. Brown masks the mismatched blue and gold, because somewhere along the line I learned subtlety. I'll watch, just long enough to make sure the boy and his mother are safe. And then I'll make myself scarce.

I am the fire.

((She'll take off as soon as is reasonably possible and stay incognito in the meantime. Thanks for letting her butt in. <3))

[WESSON]

w e s s o n

His long navy eyelashes blinking endlessly glaring at her, the film no longer covering his eyes or hindering his breathing. He knows that is his Ma, he can feel the rhythm of her breathing - it is the same as it has been the last few days within her womb. Before he can even meagerly bleat at his mother, cry for her to tend to him (oh he is so needy!) a bird swoops in and shifts to a horse, his eyes big doe brown eyes grow large with curiosity. The lady has a soothing nature to her voice, he doesn't feel frightened - just cold and damp, a touch hungry. "Mama okay, she's okay, mama okay," he chews on it as minute by minute his soft baby coat dries and reveals the navy fading to rust, a small flick of a orange tail and he attempts to stand.

It is a poor attempt both the first, second and third tries but the fourth he is successful - unsteady and insecure but he is up and feebly managing balance to walk towards the black mare with feathered legs. As he wobbles to and fro he slowly makes his way to her, "Who are you?" he bats his eyes and then slowly makes his way over to his dip-dyed mother, nudging at her flank and poking around looking for milk. He feels a different pang within himself, something stirring that resolves itself and suddenly he isn't hungry. He knows in that very moment something is strange, about him or about this mystery woman. "Wesson. Mama calls me that," he says matter of factly, she talked to him frequently in the womb and although the gender was unknown to Kimber - it stuck with him.

i want to be with you alone and talk about the weather

[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

With any other child, I would be cleaning him off, nudging him to nurse if he's hungry because I've milk to spare. My body is working overtime to keep up with the demands of my son's hungry triplets, but Ryss is taking a shift and I could feed one extra hungry belly. It feels like too much of an intrusion this time, too much of a claim staked on a child I have little right to interfere with. Instead I monitor him as well, making sure the damp doesn't make his body temperature drop, making sure he isn't uncomfortable in his hunger, giving his mother time to wake and tend to him if she's able. Absolutely allowing him to nurse if he moves to, but not nudging him to his feet and actively encouraging him to do so like I normally would do with a hungry child.

“She's okay,” I agree, nodding. On her way to it, at least, and certainly in good hands. He asks who I am, and I tilt my head, considering. “You can call me Willow, little love,” I tell him, giving the name my first granddaughters called me. Grandmother Willow, Gendry's girls would always say, with that perfect blend of mischief and affection in their eyes. “And it is very nice to meet you. Wesson is a good name,” I add, perking up as I feel his hunger level drop, feel something familiar stirring inside him. “That's a clever trick, Wesson, very well done.” Instinctive use of healing magic, and mine recognizes his all too well.

I follow behind him to check on his mother, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. Too early for a lesson? The first hours of life can be overwhelming, so much to take in, so much to learn. Still, the healing potential in him is already stirring. “Would you like to help me help your Mama?” If not, I'll scan her again just to see how she's doing, if there's anything more she needs. If he's interested, I'll help him learn a little something about his gift. Not enough to drain him, I'll be careful to make sure he doesn't overdo. So little, so new, so easy to get exhausted. Still, he might like being able to help his Mama get better.

I am the fire.