"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
In the west, the sun hangs low, turning the Sylvan forest from autumn gold to orange fire. Behind me, the soft purple dusk creeps in from the Hyaline mountains and overhead the summer stars begin to show their faces. The air is thick and smells of peonies, for it is on a bed of their green leaves and brightly colored blossoms I rest. The child within me stretches, and from the way its hooves push against my belly I know that it means to arrive soon.
I have birthed all my children alone, and this one will be no different.
---
By the time he arrives, the only light comes from the stars and the thin slice of moon that hovers over Loess. In much the same way, I hover over the small colt. I had not known what to expect of him, nor of myself at his arrival.
I had wondered if I might be able to kill him, to solve many of the problems that face me with a single act of violence. I’d certainly sounded capable when I had threatened Neverwhere. A single quick blow between those violet eyes, and he would never face the lifetime of suffering that threatens him, never grow to understand the reason he exists. It is the merciful thing to do, I know.
Uncertain, I fall back on instinct, and bathe him gently from the edge of his soft white nose to his flop of a tail. I had done the same for my firstborn, still as he was, and I think of the small buckskin boy and the life I might have led if he had lived.
I touch the small wings, downy and grey, and know that I cannot harm him. At least, not now, not like this. If I succeed - when I succeed – he will be harmed regardless. He will be a boy without a mother, but surely that is better than being dead.
I trace the black markings along his face, and the clean white along his neck and shoulders that I decide have come from me, and not the colors his father wore at his conception. I should have known – after Celina, after Elio – that the Curse had changed more than just the mind, and yet I am still surprised by the way the colt in front of me so resembles the disguise. I brush aside the memory of the ache at seeing the dappled colt a few weeks earlier, simultaneously thankful that at least this child will not be a visible reminder of what I have lost.
He will remind me on other ways.
“Kestrell,” I name him, taking the name of a fierce bird and hoping that it will give him strength. I give him some as well, the softest touch of confidence to encourage him to stand.
I’d been made during a dark hour, when my father fought my mother but long before I’d ever come to hear about that story, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I was born during a dark hour as well. Night surrounded us, my mother and I, and I slipped out into a world that smelled like rich perfume. It was cold that night. A leftover wind from the mountaintops swept across the starlight wildflowers I was curled up in and made me shiver. That was my first movement. Then for the first time I felt my mother, bathing me and bringing the blood under my skin rushing to the surface. From then on I would think of her as my one source of warmth. She was my mother after all. The one horse I would come to depend on, not even knowing how much danger I was already in.
When her nose and her wet tongue brushed over my cheek I blinked and opened my eyes, staring up past the waving flyaways of her blue and white mane to where the moon hung low in the sky. It was almost gone, just a thin crescent of weak light that stood out among the stars, but I marveled at it anyway. I marveled at everything, desperately looking around as if I were afraid that I’d miss seeing something magical. Almost as if I knew that soon enough these infant memories would disappear.
And while I was marveling, something marvelous happened.
My mother named me. She called me a word, “Kestrell.” And she tethered me to Beqanna and her bloodline forever. I couldn’t understand the gravity of it all, but I responded anyway. I turned my chin and gave her the full view of my own moon-marking, a black crescent that curved under my pale eyes, and when she touched me afterward I felt another warm surge of energy. My mother’s power was like electricity surging through my veins, empowering me to leap up from where I lay in the grass and dirt excitedly. All of a sudden I was alive, burning with the force of a thousand suns and feeling like my heart could explode out of my chest!
I wanted to move, to run, to flare my wings and find my voice but I could only stand and tremble for a moment, waiting for my knees to lock into place, and when the trembling had stopped I found that I wasn’t the one trembling anymore! The ground underneath us was, and I glanced up at the night sky again to see a strange, light plume of smoke blooming across the heavens miles and miles away. The trembling stopped, but not a moment later the wind picked up again until it was strong enough to blow down the field of peonies. My mane and tail fluttered, and I flared my wings and snorted - showing that strange cloud and the wind that I wasn’t afraid!
But then I sneezed, my legs gave out underneath me and I fell back into the dirt and flowers with a painful-sounding, “Umph!” For a brief minute I was dazed by the entire ordeal. My rump hurt, and I felt like crying, but I blinked away the stinging tears and thought it was actually funny. I found my voice and it bubbled up into hiccups, bursting out of my mouth with little gasping laughs. “Oh Mama!” I giggled and shook my big-little head, not even realizing that my black mane and tail shimmered like a night full of stars now. “Did’ja see that?!” I shook my little wings with my bellyful of laughter, and a tiny dark feather drifted down to the ground. It sparkled like black tinsel.
@[Lepis] <3
I watch him as he leaps to his feet, my blue-grey eyes bright. He is bold - more than just my confidence aiding him - and I smile proudly. Like all of my other children, he is wonderful. I had been told once that every mother thinks this, and it only makes sense. Of course other mothers would mollify themselves with such lies; they were not fortunate enough to have my children. I can admit, if only to myself, that I had worried Wolfbane might be able to take some credit for their creation, but as I look down at Kestrell and remember (perhaps foggily) how very homely Neverwhere’s son had been, I am able to know for certain that, yes: my children are the very best.
Once standing, he waits a moment to steady himself, and I raise one hoof to take a step forward, closer to my youngest.
There is a distant quake, a trembling in the earth, and the wind picks up.
I raise my head, breathing deeply. It does not smell like a summer storm, drawn in on the night winds. What then, I wonder, glancing back down at Kestrell. Only then do I see the dust, glittering, and the way it seems to be caught up in my newborn’s mane. It reaches me a moment later, intangible, but tasting of magic and the mountain.
Something changes when it brushes past me, a weight settles - or perhaps lifts? - but after a second breath I feel no different at all.
When he falls, I keep a straight face, knowing that the concern that clenched at me would model his reaction. There is a long moment of quiet, and then he laughs. I smile as well then. “I did see that,”I tell him with a fond smile, stepping closer to touch where his mane glitters. I bend to catch the black feather before it can drift away, and I tuck it between my own feathers for safekeeping.
“Now stand up again, and try taking a few steps. You can use your wings for balance.” I touch them gently, the soft patterns of the downy feathers hinting at the adult pattern to come. They are unlike any of his siblings, but then – none of them are like any of the others either. I remember Gale asking me why that was, once, and I had been unable to give him an answer beyond: Magic. It explained so much about our lives, from the star like glittering of Kestrell’s mane that I kiss gently before pulling away, to the sensation of something strange having been given to me – or perhaps taken? – by the same wave of dust from the Mountain.
So busy trying to take it all in, I miss the instant my dam lowers her head to swipe up my feather. The twinkling black thing is already forgotten, tucked away between the blended blues and peaches of her wings, and I’m busy anyway. Her courage may have left me but it resounded through my chest and lit a fire in my veins. From infancy I’d learned a thing about myself that would hold true throughout my life - that I was suddenly addicted to that feeling, that of courage, and I would search for the high forever. She wanted me to stand? Then I would, even if my legs protested and the idea of falling again terrified me.
I braced myself and hefted forward, lifting my spotted rear into the air. Out came my legs underneath me and I was standing again, just like she’d asked, my tiny wings unformed and spread out beside me while I teetered back and forth.
I looked up to Lepis and smiled, yearning for the look to be returned tenfold. Had I done it the right way? Was this what she wanted? The way she taught me worked well; I balanced myself and stood up straight again like I had a minute before. Solid and with my forehooves planted evenly out in front of me. Her encouragement had driven me and she’d been right. I would trust her always. She must know everything, and I thought she was very wise for teaching me. Lepis expanded from 'warmth and life' to 'knowledge and infinite wisdom' in the span of a few words.
Suddenly, I knew that I adored her. That I would do anything she asked of me, follow her anywhere she led. I loved her. She seemed to love me.
I turned to look at her wondrously and wobbled a few steps sideways, careful not to let my dipping legs tangle themselves up again. “Like this?!” I asked her loudly, starved already for her attention and praise. I looked away to concentrate, took another few steps and then a bold little hop. “It’s tickling my legs!” I said of the grass and flowers, not yet knowing their purpose or names but loving them already. Thus far my entire world seemed to be made up of things I loved. Everything was perfect.
How could I begin to understand that it wasn't, or that it never would be? How could I possibly think about time or age, or anything involving what had just occurred here in the Pampas when there was mother here? Privileged with security, destined to have it taken away. I only smiled my childish grin and trampled on, circling tightly back to Lepis with a little skip and a frisky rear. There was so much else to concern myself with, considering the way I could feel my belly tighten and my head lower curiously towards mama's shadowy underbelly. "I'm hungry." I exclaimed, sidling up next to my dam. My nose roamed over her side and I gusted the smell of her scent radiating up from her soft, warm fur.
@[Lepis]
The darkness around us is warm and thick, and the soft petals of the peony that fall around my feet as I turn to watch Kestrell perfume the air. The wind sweeps down toward the ocean in the south, and knowing it does not head north brings me no small comfort. The little one beside me is safe, at least for this evening, and I allow my defenses to fall away.
I watch each of his steps with careful intensity, nodding encouragingly even when he wobbles. The need to catch him is hard to stifle. Harder than it had been with Elio, even, though I attribute this to my lack of recent experience mothering. Never before have I gone so long between children. I had actually thought of myself as too old for more a time or two. I have grandchildren now, after all, even if none of them are near to me. But now I have Kestrell, learning to walking right in front of me, small and perfect.
Having only recently made sure he will be provided for in any circumstance, I find it is easier to relax, to let the simple joy of the moment exist without modification.
“Don’t go too far,” I tell him as he toddles toward the edge of my line of sight. With only moon and starlight to illume us, the shrubland of Loess makes for a small place for the colt to explore. I am grateful when he turns back to me, and at his admission smile and nudge him toward my belly. While I wait for him to take his fill, after I shiver a bit at the almost-forgotten sensation, I tell him of his family and of the world he has joined in a soft voice. I name his brothers and sisters, nieces and nephew. I do not speak of a father, because I have determined that he will be mine, just mine, and that the credit for him will not be shared with anyone, least of all the thing that had stolen other parts of my family from me.
He is perfect, and I will be sure that he knows this.
“You should rest now,” I tell him as I smooth the soft black of his baby-sparse mane. “In the morning I will show you Loess.”
I hadn’t known they’d existed until Lepis told me one. The first story, my origin, is a long one. I listened carefully anyways, half lulled by the way my belly was filling up and half lulled by the sound of her familiar voice and scent. It seemed that my existence was no new thing; my siblings stretched before me in a wide range of ages and types. The history of my history went back over a decade and I thought very little of it. I was only an infant. But there was comfort in knowing my life wouldn’t be singular, that I could grow and discover more about myself and my lineage, and the way Lepis made it sound seemed like I would have plenty of time to figure it all out.
I gulped in a quick breath of air and drank a little more, then let go.
Mother suggested I should sleep, but I could hardly admit I wanted to. My eyelid blinked heavily, milk-drunk, and I frowned at the same time my ears went back. Sleep already? Hadn’t I only just woken up?
In the morning she promised to show me Loess. Our home. I considered this: sleep meant I could see Loess, but it meant missing out on the twinkling stars and the crescent moon. I blinked, contemplating the black and white of my choices, and sighed when curiosity won out over the present moment. “Oh-kay.” I yawned at mother. My little baby gums were pink and healthy. I shook my head and swished my tail, circling away from her to tramp down the high grass and wildflowers into a small bed. “Low-ess. Low… ess.” I murmured quietly to myself, a childish nighttime song.
With a crumpling oomph, I folded down into the grass like a baby fawn. Exhaustion swept through me, a hollow feeling after the one Lepis had given me. Mom was right: I was tired. Yawning again, I did as mother asked and dutifully closed my eyes, sighing as the smell of peonies and the hope of tomorrow eased me into a peaceful darkness.
He listens, little ears flickering with attention despite his young age, and I smile fondly. These are tales I would tell him a thousand times, stories of the adventures of our ancestor, history with lessons, parables for virtue. My children had all liked stories, and there is little doubt that I am one of – if not the – best storytellers. How could I not be, with my magic? Touches of danger to accompany the appearance of monsters, pride when listing our accomplishments, victory at the defeat of our enemies. Emotion adds depth to a tale, and each of mine are an endless well.
He yawns at my suggestion of sleep, but does not tuck in immediately. I watch his quiet contemplation with fond eyes, watching him puzzle through his decision. And it is his own decision – I had found that children do best when given such freedoms.
“Oh-kay”, I repeat, just as he had said it, but my smile is gentle as I follow a pace behind him to the bed he has made amongst the flowers. I am as tired as he, though in a different way, and though I wait for him to doze off first, I know I will not be far behind.
“Goodnight, sweet prince.” The words are gentle, not enough to wake him, much like the soft kiss I press to the curled nape of his neck. I add joy as well, very softly, and happiness, knowing that they will color his first dreams. “Sleep well. I love you.” And soon after, I too drift off while standing over him, and the moon and stars spin above us both, hazy with the dust of the Mountain.
