05-17-2021, 02:55 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
In those early hours of the morning, when Mazikeen feels the beginning pangs of childbirth, Wishbone dreams of her daughters. Her memories of birthing the twins are hazy, and her sleeping mind twists it so it’s something she treasures rather than forgetting. They smell warm and familiar, and when she presses a kiss to their noses, she sees the world through their young eyes. In the mysticism of dreams, Wishbone watches Rivuline and Delphi grow up in ways she had missed. She watches them discover the world, fall in love, and have their own children.
She experiences the love and life she had lost in the Afterlife, and her heart feels full by the time her eyes flutter open.
The sun tells Wishbone she’s slept longer than she normally does, but she remains slow to move from her overnight spot. Her dreams of the twins leave her heavy, pulled down by a strong mixture of affection and grief. Despite the years since she last saw her children, Wishbone still has not fully come to grips with the loss she feels in the wake of her death. Ivar had taken more than just her life on that day — he had taken her role as a mother.
She’s so absorbed in the emotions and thoughts triggered by her sleep that Wishbone doesn’t recognize Mazikeen’s scent until her friend is within sight. The purple mare pushes through the heavy undergrowth to meet her friend on the trail. She notices the dark, hours-old twins at Mazikeen’s sides first, and the remaining signs of childbirth second. Her glowing amber eyes widen while her heart simultaneously tightens at the sight of the newborns, so new and wide-eyed. She sees her daughters’ innocence reflecting in their orange-blue eyes.
“Oh, Maze,” she whispers in her roughened voice. Wishbone listens quietly to her friend, watches the way Mazikeen’s gaze shifts with an unmeasurable range of emotions. It hadn’t been that long ago when she had been in Tephra with a vibrant joy simply mentioning Gale’s name, though Wishbone had noticed an underlying hesitancy on that day. Mazikeen reveals the origin of that doubt, and the purple mare’s ears twist as her friend explains the Curse.
The memories are a tsunami that threatens to overwhelm her (the sound of rain melting with the scream of Longclaw’s rage; the slippery darkness in Wolfbane’s face as he prowled around her; feeling her best friend cower against her as his father stormed through the jungle). The dream melts with the memories, which tumble into the bottomless pit of her emotions. What was lost sings a melody with redemption, and Wishbone knows her answer to Mazikeen’s favor and she wonders if she has been crafted for this purpose.
The purple mare steps closer, lowering her head so she can look into each child’s face. “Hello, little loves,” she says softly, and her heart swells in adoration. When Wishbone lifts her head to meet Mazikeen’s face, her eyes speak of a mixture of steely resolve and a mothering warmth she hasn’t felt in years. After looking into those pure soft eyes, she knows that she will protect the children with her life. Even if she must protect them from someone who looks like their father (and oh, does she know the pain that comes with this). “They will be safe here,” she tells Mazikeen, and it’s as much of a promise as she can offer.
And Wishbone offers a story in return. She tells Mazikeen about Ivar, how she carried and birthed their twins during the worst sickness in Beqanna’s history. Her voice softens as she mentions Rivuline and Delphi, and then it becomes heavier as she tells the story of her death. And when she finally mentions how she has yet to see them, the purple mare presses a sincere kiss to Mazikeen’s cheek. “I will consider Malik and Sickle my own, and Tephra will know them as mine, to protect them. You are always welcome to visit, Maze. You are family now.”
She experiences the love and life she had lost in the Afterlife, and her heart feels full by the time her eyes flutter open.
The sun tells Wishbone she’s slept longer than she normally does, but she remains slow to move from her overnight spot. Her dreams of the twins leave her heavy, pulled down by a strong mixture of affection and grief. Despite the years since she last saw her children, Wishbone still has not fully come to grips with the loss she feels in the wake of her death. Ivar had taken more than just her life on that day — he had taken her role as a mother.
She’s so absorbed in the emotions and thoughts triggered by her sleep that Wishbone doesn’t recognize Mazikeen’s scent until her friend is within sight. The purple mare pushes through the heavy undergrowth to meet her friend on the trail. She notices the dark, hours-old twins at Mazikeen’s sides first, and the remaining signs of childbirth second. Her glowing amber eyes widen while her heart simultaneously tightens at the sight of the newborns, so new and wide-eyed. She sees her daughters’ innocence reflecting in their orange-blue eyes.
“Oh, Maze,” she whispers in her roughened voice. Wishbone listens quietly to her friend, watches the way Mazikeen’s gaze shifts with an unmeasurable range of emotions. It hadn’t been that long ago when she had been in Tephra with a vibrant joy simply mentioning Gale’s name, though Wishbone had noticed an underlying hesitancy on that day. Mazikeen reveals the origin of that doubt, and the purple mare’s ears twist as her friend explains the Curse.
The memories are a tsunami that threatens to overwhelm her (the sound of rain melting with the scream of Longclaw’s rage; the slippery darkness in Wolfbane’s face as he prowled around her; feeling her best friend cower against her as his father stormed through the jungle). The dream melts with the memories, which tumble into the bottomless pit of her emotions. What was lost sings a melody with redemption, and Wishbone knows her answer to Mazikeen’s favor and she wonders if she has been crafted for this purpose.
The purple mare steps closer, lowering her head so she can look into each child’s face. “Hello, little loves,” she says softly, and her heart swells in adoration. When Wishbone lifts her head to meet Mazikeen’s face, her eyes speak of a mixture of steely resolve and a mothering warmth she hasn’t felt in years. After looking into those pure soft eyes, she knows that she will protect the children with her life. Even if she must protect them from someone who looks like their father (and oh, does she know the pain that comes with this). “They will be safe here,” she tells Mazikeen, and it’s as much of a promise as she can offer.
And Wishbone offers a story in return. She tells Mazikeen about Ivar, how she carried and birthed their twins during the worst sickness in Beqanna’s history. Her voice softens as she mentions Rivuline and Delphi, and then it becomes heavier as she tells the story of her death. And when she finally mentions how she has yet to see them, the purple mare presses a sincere kiss to Mazikeen’s cheek. “I will consider Malik and Sickle my own, and Tephra will know them as mine, to protect them. You are always welcome to visit, Maze. You are family now.”
@[Mazikeen]