I'm your Queen, you're my Ruler.
It’s time, she knows it even though it’s the first time going through this kind of thing. The contractions have her fight the groans that are threatening to spill from her lips, but the bay and orangey white queen does not let them. Esileif cannot say it’s a pleasant feeling, but it had not yet become painful.
She leaves the main part of the meadow behind, leaving in order to find a quiet and secured spot. She doesn’t need spectators during what might be one of her most vulnerable moments in life. They don’t have to see her weak, tired and sweaty, it’s simply not a way to show you to your subjects. Although Esileif isn’t their queen and only holds the position of the leading mare, she always tries to behave herself in a queen-like, sophisticated manner.
A groan escapes from her parted lips as she lies down, unable to do it gracefully because of her swollen stomach. The left side of her ribcage is still somewhat bruised and painful and therefor Esileif strategically decided to lay upon the right side of her body. The wounds upon her back are slowly healing, now with thick crusts and accompanied by an itchy feeling.
But she doesn’t think about her pains anymore. She doesn’t think of what Conquest, War and Famine had made her go through. The quest isn’t on her mind, except for the little being that was about to enter their world. Even the cravings are momentarily forgotten, the excitement takes all over. ”Mommy has been waiting for you?” she mumbles out loud to the thing in her stomach, before the now heavy contractions force her to push herself through the labour.
He’s beautiful, perfect even, and Esileif cannot be more content. Or, that’s not entirely true either, but that doesn’t change anything about her little price. ”Rhavi” she names him. She watches him, having stepped back a little to give the dark colt some space, urging him to get up with a bump on his hindquarters, careful to not touch the flames that dance upon the places his mane and tail should’ve been.
She’s tired and sore, but for now the pride fills her being. As she watches the flaming boy a grin is pulling on the corners of her lips, heart swelling and her head is already seeing the many opportunities that her son could make possible. ”You indeed kept your promise, Conquest. It’s a shame you cannot meet your son.” Her laugh is humourless, but victorious nonetheless.
Esileif