Birthing; vi, malka, lagertha, shatter me, rhy, sunday amazonians, !!ANY!!

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

There are more of them than she originally anticipated. The Falls reeks of the warrior women, though Scorch didn’t particularly notice. She hasn’t noticed much over the past few minutes; indeed, she’s been thoroughly dazed. Their voices float through her head as though through water. Volcan, where is… Volcan?

Slowly but surely, the healing waters sink beneath her hairless skin. The pain has certainly faded; whatever magical injuries were inflicted during her daughter’s kidnapping are being slowly melded. By the time Malka lands reassuringly on her shoulder, Scorch has nearly regained consciousness. When the quetzal grooms her soothingly, the mare’s eyes begin seeing again. Aware of her delicate state, Scorch nickers, frightened of raising her head. The sound is low, but calm.

Nostrils flickering, she scents her remaining daughter. Shivering, the feeble woman slowly lifts her great mass until, like her very own newborn, she stands teetering on all fours. Water slides effortlessly across her malnourished, hairless body. Constantly aware of her unstable condition, Scorch does not attempt to decipher the words around her. The magician does, however, break through her disoriented barrier. Looking blankly towards Prague, Scorch nods her head. A silent thank you is all she manages.

She slides a hoof out of the water, sensing a resemblance of her true self returning to her. The first face she focuses on is Sarkis; Scorch murmurs for her to go home, that momma’s alright. The second face is Rhy; she says she can’t stay, but Scorch trusts in her return. Texas glares moodily towards everyone, but even in her state, she recognizes his good will here. She mouths a thank you towards him without waiting to see if he caught the gesture. And as she steps further from the water, more and more faces confront her. Her breath catches.

In the end, she settles for following Prague’s gentle instructions. Ears straining for her newborn, Scorch presses wordlessly through the crowd, though her nose brushes each she passes gratefully. Sickly blue eyes suddenly find Tantalize’s newly adorned figure, though said figure has begun retreating as requested. Heart lurching dangerously, Scorch lunges towards the two, or rather, stumbles.

“I,” She tries, staring as though terrified of herself. “Thank you, Liz.” Gulping, Scorch leans down to nuzzle her darkly coloured child. Inviting the girl closer with soft nibbling and tugging of her baby mane, Scorch brings Vi to her side. “Hey there,” She coos; obviously the dysphoria has not yet worn off.

Meeting Tantalize’s gaze gratefully, Scorch begins trudging back towards the healing waters. She may have come to her senses, but all was not yet well. Halting in hock-deep waters, Scorch encourages Vi to feed with some gentle nudges. Glancing back towards the assembled horses, the fallen Khaleesi nods to them as a whole. Stomach lurching, she lowers her gaze. It matters none to her the fool she has made of herself; the anxious clenching of her guts is caused by one thing, and one thing only:

Volcan.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle