"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
07-06-2015, 03:07 PM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2015, 03:13 PM by Pevensie.)
Everything has changed today. After leaving Cam and Yael by the oasis, she wanders. Where, why, she is unsure. Her sides heave. Her pregnancy is come to it's end. The child was late, but the shock of the early morning will make sure it comes now. Her eyes wander to the sunrise, looking to the spirits beyond this world. She thinks of Neraza, and whispers into the dawning day, "Stay close my sister, for I am scared. Keep us safe, but most of all, watch over my child in this brave new world,"
Then she is forced to sink to her knees. The pain becomes overwhelming. She groans, clenching her teeth and wringing her neck between her forelegs, screaming out. She is old to have her first biological child, very old, and she feels it in her immortal bones, punishing her for her brashness - why on earth would this have been easy? She glances up at the sun, beginning to flicker through the clouds, peaking down to see her golden form splayed upon the sand.
Another pang, a louder scream. She pants, pauses, pants. So much is running through her mind. Fresh tears come to her lids, she thinks of the shifting world she has just witnessed and questioned the chaos that will come to be her babies home. What world is she bringing this child into? Will it be a better one than that she grew up with?
She is exhausted. Years have passed her quicker than this labour is going. It is taking it's toll. She is weak and the water is far away. Her eyes flicker open, then shut. Every time they lapse into darkness, she wonders if she will wake again. Will the gods have taken her by the end of the morning? Did she choose the wrong fate by remaining a Queen?
The darkness bares down on her despite the sun climbing higher in the sky. A merciful spring breeze strokes her broken, sweaty, exhausted sides. She opens her eyes, blinking away the blurriness. A muzzle touches her own, she can feel the warm breath of another horse against her nose. She looks up and see's slate grey. It inspires her to try harder and with a greater effort, she tries to open keep her eyes open. "Shh... be still my love," she hears and a gentle pressure on her neck wills her to rest back against the sand. She can feel the muzzle trace down her sides, touch her exhausted muscles and give them enjoying, renewal. "It is almost done. Be strong, my girl," she hears and with one definitive squeal, her efforts are doubled.
The pain is relentless, but now she fights. She fights for her unborn child, she fights for her own primeval instinct and she fights for her kingdom. They need her, she see's that now... they need their sunshine Queen. And she needs them.
Finally, the pressure ceases. She feels a wetness slip between her thighs, out onto the cool morning sand. She glances up to see a smiling face, a warm smile to rival even her own. She realises now, it is her mother. The grullo mare fades from her vision now, disappearing as suddenly as she came.
It is Pevensie who is the mother now. She turns, famished and deliriously tired to see the fruits of her labours, and they are rightly rewarded with the wriggling golden child set upon the sand. Her heart melts and breaks all in one moment, and she knows the effort was worthwhile.
He shouldn’t have come, but he could not resist. Granted, he has a valid reason for being here. He had agreed to participate in their competition. Ostensibly, if asked, that is why he is here. They do not need to know he has an ulterior motive for coming here. To find her. Pevensie.
She had been plaguing his thoughts far too much of late. He, the embodiment of cool logic and purveyor of brutal honesty, had been consumed by a mare who smelled of sunshine. It is unfathomable. Even as he had flown south, passing over the Tundra’s massive wall of ice, he had told himself to return home. To wait until the appointed time of the competition. Searching her out is simply not logical. But still he had flown. He had flown until the rolling dunes of the Deserts lay before him.
This is where he stands now, on the borderlands of the kingdom, dark eyes surveying the landscape. He had considering simply flying in, but he is not yet that much of a cretin. Instead he wavers there, telling himself to return, go home. Yet he does not go home. He steps forward, feet carrying him on an inevitable journey.
He has only been traveling for a short time when he hears a scream. His pale head jerks up, ears snapping to attention as his forward motion falters. This is not his kingdom, but his protective instincts kick in anyway. He turns, heading swiftly in the direction the sound had originated. When the scream comes again, his wings unfurl as he leaps into the sky.
It does not take him long to find her. Though her golden coat nearly blends into the sand, he still sees her. He would always see her. Worry tightens his throat as he drops swiftly to the ground beside her. The scent of birth hits him just before he sees the small golden form wriggling beside her mother. The knot in his throat loosens as awe takes its place.
Pevensie.
Her name escapes his lips, just as sweet on his tongue as it had been before. His dark eyes sweep her form, ensuring her wellness for himself. Even covered in sweat and sand, she is beautiful. Dropping his head, he brushes his muzzle against her neck, her shoulder, before moving to the newborn filly. His pale wings flare wide, offering them what protection he can from the harsh desert sun. A small, almost smile hovers upon his lips as he inspects their child. Turning his eyes back to Pevensie, he gazes upon her with a hint of amusement.
This is not how I expected this meeting to go.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
html c Insane
OOC: Sooooo, I couldn't resist. Hope you don't mind him butting in here.
In the beginning, there is nothing. She sleeps the sleep of the unborn, rocked gently within her mother, fed and sustained by a love she does not yet have the knowledge to understand. But still she feels it: sustaining her, a wordless cherishing that will set the tone for all of Ketterley's years to come.
In the beginning there is darkness, but time passes, and then there is light.
Light, bright, illuminating, blinding. It's warm here, although not as warm as it had been. But mostly, it's just impossibly bright. The girl squints, blinking her eyes prettily to combat the glare. She takes a moment to get her bearings, to let the suddenness of all of this wash over her. She is not afraid (perhaps she will never be afraid); rather, she is relaxed, willing to take her time before diving into this new existence she's so suddenly found.
As suddenly as the brightness had come, something abates it, and she looks above herself to see a tall stallion, with magnificent feathered wings spread wide above her, shading her and making it easier to see. She can't help it, she gasps in awe. "Wow!"
She is aware that the stallion is talking, but it doesn't much concern her. Having duly recognized his wings (and in her mind, thanked him for the shelter), she's on to the next thing. Which, in this case, is her mother.
There is no denying that she is Pevensie's child. Their colorings are so close, both of them the precious gold-yellow that belongs here in the sands. The child has a small white blaze, and a single white sock – both so preciously crafted that they could be the accessories of a doll. But despite the fact that she is not a copy, she is so close, so precious and perfect that the resemblance is nonetheless uncanny.
With surprising grace for a child, the girl tucks her little legs under her and pushes herself up. It does take several tries for her to get herself standing, and she is a little wobbly once standing has been accomplished, but she manages the task with relative ease and smoothness. This sets the tone for what her life will be: what she does, she will do well, and with an uncommon degree of grace.
Now standing, her parents (or, that is what she assumes they are) seem both larger and smaller. She looks at her father, all broad wings and sturdiness, and she looks at her mother, smaller, daintier, pretty. And in that moment she decides that she is pleased, that they are suitable parents, and that they've done rather well in producing her.
She teeters forward on uncertain legs, moving toward Hurricane. She pauses in front of him, swaying only slightly as she does so, her feet surprisingly sturdy on the Deserts sand. Facing him, she extends her neck so that she can gently touch her nose to his, a sweet gesture of greeting. Step 1 completed, she moves (with ever-increasing confidence and sturdiness in her step) over to her mother. She touches her mother's nose in the same way.
Stepping back once more, she regards both of her parents with a sweet, gentle, innocent expression. Oh yes, she's very much pleased to be here, and very much pleased with them.
She does not glow there, broken upon the sand. Any thoughts of bending sunlight to contour her form are nulled, for the effort would be much too great at present. Instead, the glow that shapes her is the same elation felt by every mother watching her child, the same ruddy smile that a grullo mare once gave a young Pevensie. In all these years, she has struggled - feeling alone, feeling set apart from the rest of her kin by her choices and the twist of fate. No longer. As she looks down at her beloved daughter, the first of her children for a very long time, she knows she will never spend another day with regret. All is healed, now.
A cool touch against her boiling flesh, it is only when his skin melts against hers that she knows Hurricane has come to see their child. He is here. He cares. It was not just a magical dream, a desert illusion of a blanket of white snow and a ghostly Mr Rochester lingering just out of touch. It is as if the last sixty years have been a waking dream and it is only now she truly opens her eyes to see - him, her, the three of them together, blissfully ignorant of the rest of the world, protected in this precious moment.
He calls her name. She smiles, a small smile, but a pure one. She closes her eyes, embraces his touch, letting it sooth her aching sides and savouring the velvet tingle of his muzzle on her skin. Her gaze follows to watch Hurricane shield their daughter, the thankful shock of her little face, the adorable 'o' her lips make as she gasps.
"I wouldn't have had it any other way," she whispers, beaming with pride, love, and a mixture of other emotions she can't even begin to place. The satisfaction in watching her daughter stand for the first time, the relief when she succeeds, is just too much for Pev to describe. In fact, her offspring moves with more grace and candour upon the shifting sands that Pevensie has ever been able to lay claim upon.
She totters firstly over to her father, bravely venturing out her muzzle before the imposing stallion. Then, with a flutter of joy and a tachycardia volt to her heart, Pevensie gasps as her daughter turns to gift the same gentle attention to the lying mare. The pony, eyes heavy, blows softly out against her daughters face, drinking in her sweet baby scent.
Pevensie knows now that her babe must be hungry, she must get up. Slowly the buckskin mare unfurls her legs from underneath her, looking nearly as gingerly as her daughter in her attempt to rise to her feet. With much effort and a grunting heave, she stabilises herself on all fours, flicking her tail. Her legs are splayed wide, struggling to take her own load on sapped muscles.
Despite that though, she gazes proudly at her little family. "I don't think I have ever been this happy," is all she can manage to say, looking lovingly over to her mate, the father of her child. They barely know each other, true, but that doesn't matter. Not when they have the little mite between their hooves to unite the two.
His heart had become hardened by the long years that he had lived. Pevensie had begun chipping away at the hardened exterior from the first words she had spoken to him on the cold plains of the Tundra. Seeing her - his daughter, so sweet and innocent, large eyes so full of life and wonder - shatters what remains. His breath catches as she rises to her feet with more grace than he would have expected. The moment her small muzzle touches his, he is lost. She has changed him irrevocably.
He watches, affection in his gaze, as she moves to her mother and offers the same greeting. His dark eyes find Pevensie’s, sharing that moment of love and pride with her. He does not doubt that their daughter will grow to be something amazing. Perhaps it is a fallibility all parents share, to believe such things. Nevertheless, he does not doubt it for a moment.
As Pevensie struggles to rise, Hurricane turns to offer her what aid he can. When she stands upon splayed feet, he moves next her, offering his own body as a support. Draping one pale wing over her back, he presses his muzzle against her neck briefly as her words wash over him. He can well understand the sentiment. It had never occurred to him that his life might be missing something so vital. The familial peace settling over the small group is not something he had ever known, had not realized the ways it might improve his endless existence.
When he responds, his words are simple, honest.
Nor have I.
Turning his dark eyes upon their daughter, he smiles. A true smile. The gesture is unfamiliar to him, but he would not change it. Extending his neck, he gently nudges her, a silent encouragement to take her first meal.
07-10-2015, 09:10 PM (This post was last modified: 07-10-2015, 09:10 PM by Ketterley.)
we are living in a material world,
and i am a material girl
♦ ♦ ♦
She is loved. She is cherished. She is safe and secure. But more than that – and this is the dangerous part – her existence is so important to her parents, she completes them in some way that she is too young to describe, but old enough to feel deeply just how significant her birth is. And that is what worms its way into her heart, warmed and caressed by the almost impossible love that she receives. That is the seed that plants itself deep in her soul: a seed that tells her she is someone, that she deserves certain things, that she's special. It's a seed that will drive her throughout the rest of her life.
She watches with adorable interest as her mother manages to stand. She is pleased to see her father helping her mother; in the short time she's been alive, she's already figured out that this is what family should do for one another. And so she tries to help too, tries to steady her mother, or encourage her, or some combination of the two. Of course it doesn't work very well, because despite being uncommonly graceful she's still so very small, and Pevensie is so very weary. But it doesn't stop her from trying – and she always will try, at least as far as her parents are concerned.
Pevensie makes it to her feet, and stands beside Hurricane, talking. It doesn't take Ketterley long to figure out that they're talking about her; the way that they're staring, the way they seem suffused with something idyllic and otherworldly (it is love, but she doesn't have a word for love) – she can see it's all focused on her, focused on all of them together. And charmingly, adorably, she grins.
At length her father nudges her toward nursing, and she becomes aware that she is, in fact, pretty darn ravenous. With a flick of her tiny bottlebrush tail, she gracefully turns herself around so that she can nurse. She suckles greedily, but even now there is a characteristic daintiness to her movements. Case in point: when she pulls away, there is no milk on her lips. She's managed to perform the entire operation without getting herself messy in the slightest.
Sated – at least, for the moment – she looks back at the two of them again and promptly sneezes several times, equally adorably, equally daintily.
Perhaps it's that sneeze, or perhaps it's the sum total of all the things she's done so far and all the ways her parents have reacted to it, but it's in this moment that Ketterley understands exactly how adorable she is. She can see the way they look at her, see the love in their eyes, and it's that love that has inspired her to be certain that she deserves everything, and deserves the very best of all that everything. But now she understands that there is another mechanism available to her, that her adorableness is directly linked to melting hearts, to making sure that she is loved and adored. She is too young to be sad at the way she's absorbing their pure, unadulterated love and caring, and starting to turn it to something far more twisted.
She smiles at them, her grin pretty and her expression sweet. "Hi." she manages finally, her voice as precious as the rest of her. It's a baby-voice, high pitched and with a hint of excitability, but it's still sweet and soft. Someday, she'll have quite the dulcet voice.
But for now she's just a single, impossibly young girl, waiting to see just how much her parents can possibly adore her.
