"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
A scowl stretches her lips, displaying clearly, for all to see, her lack of humor. She feels rather like a bus, and the day could not come soon enough that she would give birth.
As it turns out, she does not particularly like being pregnant. It is awkward, her body feeling foreign and unwieldy. Her belly is stretched taut, her blue and white laced skin expanding to accommodate the life growing inside of her. Her hips ache, her ribs feeling bruised from the constant kick of small hooves against them.
There is no longer any denying that there are two. Even if she had not stolen a peek, the plethora of limbs kicking her organs would tell her all she needed to know. She cannot imagine the birth would be pleasant. She has seen enough to know just one can be difficult. Two would be doubly so.
She can tell when her time nears. She had never considered herself particularly motherly, but the instincts have awakened inside her, coming alive on the rush of hormones impending motherhood brings.
And even if her instincts had not driven her to it, she would have wanted to be alone for this anyway. She has no desire to have anyone witness what would no doubt be a humiliating experience.
And indeed, there is nothing graceful or pleasant about the act of birth. The pain is enormous, draining. Her skin is soaked with sweat, the scent mixing with the salt of ocean water, the dankness if the shallow cave she had appropriated, and the metallic odor of blood. By the time the first form lays upon the sand, she is thoroughly ready to be done with the entire experience.
With a groan, she clambers to her feet before nosing the small foal. A simple thought clears the sticky membrane from the small filly, turning it to dust. She has barely done a thorough examination of the dusky blue girl before the pangs tell her the next one's arrival is imminent.
By the time the second child rests upon the sand, Heartfire is panting and exhausted. She lifts her head, unable to summon the energy to do more than clear this child as she had the first. He is blue like his sister, but his skin glimmers in the light.
With a sigh, Heartfire takes a moment to rest. The girl is just now struggling into a more upright position. Perhaps contemplating trying to get to her feet, but Heartfire has until then at least.
After several long moments, she sends out a summons. She has never used this particular method on him before, but frankly, he is the reason for this entire ordeal, so she has no sympathy. It takes no time at all to find him, she is so familiar with him, and when she does, she appropriates his sight for several moments. He would see where she is, where he needed to go to get there. She doesn't doubt he would understand, especially when she shows him the two foals laying near her.
Only then does she climb to her feet once more. Brushing a tender muzzle over the colt, she inspects him as she had the filly. Lifting her head, she considers the twins for a moment, a rush of warmth filling her. Only then does the overwhelming realization sink in. She had created these two lives. Her children.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
When the time comes, he knows he’s not ready. There’s an essential lack of tender love in his purposeless heart that seems to be the key to successful parenting, but Wyrm is sure that he can do without it for now. The closest thing he’s felt to affection is the irritation Heartfire arouses in him when the two come together for a spell. That counts, right? He’d been on his way up a tree, thin claws bearing into the trunk of an old favorite of his while the feline body scrabbled deftly to where the canopy waited for him, when she’d stolen his perception. It takes every natural instinct within him not to lose his grip as the flash of scenery and the sight of two (two?!) squirming bodies assault his eyesight. Heartfire takes her time but he’s already sprouting wings and trading fur for feathers long before she lets him go.
It’s simple: enhance the muscle ability here, hollow the bones a bit more there, lengthen the wingspan a bit and like magic he’s a masterfully crafted falcon, bulleting across the blue expanse at breakneck speed. There’s no rush, of course, his speckled incubator had no need of him from the very beginning, save the insemination ordeal (a memory he recalls often if only for the pleasure of his wicked, wicked mind) and from the glimpse she’d given him the children seem healthy and whole. “That’s my girl.” He thinks, allowing for the possessiveness to swell into the shape of pride while the winds around him shift and the smell of salty brine stings his nostrils, eyes.
To fight the seabreeze would be idiotic, so the shifter glides over her hidden alcove and heads straight to the ocean, where he plunges into a dive that sends him right beneath the watery surface with a satisfactory splash. When he emerges, he is horse - choosing his natural skin over any other, but his eyes are enhanced and locked firmly upon her. It’s there that she stays, the center of all his attention, until he joins them quietly and then his gaze returns to peer curiously down at the pair. One boy. One girl. “Is there no limit to what you can accomplish?” He teases gently, head rising again to drink in the sight of her. It was a rhetorical question.
For some reason the vision of her in this unkempt, slightly overwhelmed state awakens not only tenderness, but an endearment towards her that burns like a searing brand within his chest. “Heartfire, you brilliant, beautiful terror …” Wyrm growls, voice thick and filled with a need he’s never known. The jade man sidesteps his young carefully and presses himself against her, thickening his body shape to support the ache that must be bone-deep within her now “... they’re perfect.” He tells her, firm in his convictions. “Just like their mother.” The shape-changer thinks, peering over her sweat-streaked hide to ponder over his get once more.
“Have you named them?”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
03-20-2017, 04:09 PM (This post was last modified: 03-20-2017, 04:10 PM by Heartfire.)
Apparently motherhood makes her turn to mush, haha
show them the joy and the pain and the ending
She doesn’t follow his progress; she knows that he will come. Perhaps it is the rush of hormone fueled emotions, or perhaps she is simply growing more fond of him with each day, but whatever the reason, when she sees his green form emerging from the water, a rush of relief, of welcome and gladness, threatens her heart.
She has never stood before him less than perfect, but their children on the sand before them fills her with such pride, she cannot bring herself to care about her disreputable state. So when he steps beside her, pressing against her, she welcomes his strength and warmth. Her once sweat-soaked skin has already begun to cool, the intermingled black and white hairs drying into salt-streaked curls. Her entire body has begun to ache fiercely as over-taxed muscles lose their heat. She leans into him, eyes closing briefly as she offers him a small smile. A true smile, something all too fleeting, but something very much to opposite of the false, bland smiles she so often offers.
When she opens her eyes once more, it is to find the blue and white filly struggling to find her feet.Her brother would not be far behind. When Wyrm asks about names, Heartfire pauses a moment before giving a slight shake of her head. Truth be told, she had not given much consideration to what she might name two children. She had remained in wilful ignorance, refusing the acknowledge that two youngsters could be growing inside of her, until quite recently. Until it had become quite impossible to deny. Perhaps short-sighted on her part, but even she has her faults.
Her gaze, as vibrantly blue as it has ever been, turns to consider Wyrm as a grin threatens to curve her lips. ”Since I am certain this… abundance of children is as much your fault as it is mine, you can have the pleasure of naming one.”
She turns back, considering the twins for a long moment. The elder has finally made it to her feet and is taking slow, wobbling steps towards her mother. Reaching out almost instinctively, Heartfire helps guide her to her side before saying ”This one should be named Rapture, don’t you think?”
She turns back to offer Wyrm a single, quirked brow, a hint of humor in her gaze.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
They are something together that they cannot be when they are apart and in all of his short years yet lived on the earth, Wyrm knows sullenly that he will never find anything that remotely comes close to what Heartfire has given him. Not only in the physical manifestation of their children, but also in the way his entire being feels complete when she presses into the warmth and stability he offers. Blended into one another, they are a shape he cannot shift into, but still one he loves above all of the other forms he’s taken. Before this moment, his steel-blue woman was the only creature alive that might have been able to sway his opinion or actions.
Now? He would readily give his life if she requested it of him.
They watch the pair of gangly limbs and fur untangle, his daughter finding strength and determination before his son, and Wyrm tilts his head to appraise them individually before Heartfire turns her eyes upon him with that achingly familiar grin of hers. He chuckles, happy to let her direct the ceremony (she’d done all the work, after all) while their twins fumble to make sense of gravity. They’re both both blue, a fine color that he and Heartfire had chosen together for it’s unmistakable, eye-catching quality, but his new girl is spotted here and there while his boy glimmers in the sunlight. “Rapture …” He thinks as she tucks the girl close, “Joy and pain mixed together.” Exactly what he thought of when his mind lingered on Heartfire.
“Very fitting indeed.” Wyrm agrees, finding that his counterpart was perhaps better at this whole ‘naming’ ordeal than him. His own parents had waited until they were certain of traits before naming their set. Yet, these two won’t wait and it seems neither will Heartfire so Wyrm watches his son while he contemplates the endless possibilities. His boy is up and moving finally, though unsteadily, determined to make his way to where his sister has begun her meal so the green, newly-minted father reluctantly pulls away from their dam to allow room for the pair of them.
In passing, his nose stretches downward, running along the silky tuft of mane and the gently spotted, highly reflective coat. Something, however, catches his eye. Neatly tucked underneath that tiny lip, but barely jutting out from the colt’s mouth is a single elongated tooth - curved, needle-like, and certainly not equine. A proud snort blows wind over the tiny frame of Wyrm’s son and then the idea comes naturally to him. “This one looks to be shifter, and if I’m correct I know exactly of what type.” The father declares, eyes rising once more to meet the clash of blue in Heartfire’s face. “Longclaw. Strong name for a boy.” He offers, circling about to watch them bury themselves beneath the shade of their mother’s belly.
“Strong name for a wolf.” He thinks with deep satisfaction.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
For years, she had overlooked him. Overlooked what they could have been together. But that is life, and hers has so constantly led her astray. Led her down paths perhaps best left alone. Of course, she would not be Heartfire if she did not go where she should not. In a way, everything had been so very necessary to lead them here, to this point. To this moment, with their two newly born, perfect children.
And she would not change it for anything.
She has always resisted the more tender emotions, but these two, she offers it to them freely. Somehow though, along with their children, Wyrm has edged his way in, creating cracks in the exterior of the hard facade that protects the softness of her heart within. Whatever she might project to the world, when she cares (when she loves), she does so fiercely. There is no greater gift she can offer.
Not that she would tell him such a thing. No, she would remain as tight-lipped as always. She knows him too well. Enough to know that she had best leave herself some protection.
Instead she offers him that smile once more before reaching out to brush her muzzle softly against the shimmering blue of her son’s coat as he wobbles towards her, searching for his first meal. Wyrm’s observation brings a slight frown to her lips, and her gaze seeks out what it is Wyrm had seen. A faint grin tugs at her lips then, as she sees what it is that Wyrm is so proud of. Of course he would be.
”Longclaw.” She whispers the name against his new skin, testing it out upon her lips. Very fitting indeed. ”Just so long as you do not try to bite me with those teeth.” There is a hint of humor in her tone as she says the last, her eyes lifting to find Wyrm.
She knows how she must look to him, bedraggled and flanked on either side by the children they had created. The very image of maternity. And she finds she does not mind it in the least.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
He’s not even sure he’s capable of love. Wyrm has never felt it (at least, to his knowledge) but he knows it exists. It drives men to madness, destroys empires, echoes with wailing through heaven and hell. But, once in a while (or, every few lifetimes) it does the opposite. It can forge power like great steel that sends terror and glory slicing through eternity. Perhaps they have what it takes - these two, to create such a weapon. Perhaps they can rise and wield it together, leave a wake of fire and ash that their son and daughter might walk through. Perhaps.
For now, though, Wyrm is spellbound with the way that Heartfire is in this moment. Tender, affectionate and calm though her true nature still remains. He locks it away; the smooth lines of her face, the warmth that emanates from her smile, even the way she beckons their children to her so naturally. The green shifter is suddenly intensely glad that he had requested this of her. “This is your family.” He recites to himself, peering at them while they settle perfectly into the frame of what one should look like.
He has not forgotten, however, how they came about. “I want to help you, in any way that I can.” Wyrm tells their mother, “Revenge still grows in your breast, does it not?” He questions, the green eye narrowing while the blue eye widens in a quizzical stance. His tail flicks, idly, the saltwater on his skin leaving streaks of white rivulets across his hide. Heartfire would stay here, he doesn’t doubt it - two straggling children would even slow him down. So he would remain too, for the time being. It was better to be her support, better to assume the role he’s always taken with her. It doesn’t shame him that she should lead, she does it so well, so easily, and Wyrm has always known that Heartfires ability to direct quells his otherwise unpredictable mood.
“Tell me what I can do, Heartfire.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
