la jeune fille marquée
Minette had long felt like she was losing her son. And with despair in her heart, she wonders what she had done to cause their rift. Was it Gryffen's influence, or Minette's cowardice, or a fateful combination of the two? Whichever it was, this boy in front of her is nearly a stranger. The gray mare feels closer to her firstborn whom she has not seen in two years. As such, she is not surprised when Leck lashes out. Minette believes she has been waiting for this moment since the day the boy was born and he snarled a challenge to the world.
There is a calmness to her response, an inevitability come to fruition that causes her to look her son in the eyes as a wickedly sharp horn splits apart muscle and fat. Blood spurts from the wound, but Minette barely feels it at first. Despair is grasping at her throat, stabbing her heart deeper than Leck's horns every could.
This is my son, she thinks as he hisses and screams, coated in her blood.
She collapses to her feet, feeling dizzy. Minette thinks of Felinae and her daughter, of the twisted and grotesque tableaux that mother and son must make. What words can ever explain this?
“Leck, my son. Hush.” Minette says quietly, evenly, her voice sounding faint and unlike her own. “You will scare the child.”
It happens then, without any control or input on her part (but oh how she hopes someday she can control it). Heat, what little there is of it in the mountains' cool spring day, is sucked from the air, almost tangibly. Her skin pulls it in greedily, and the gray mare winces. The healing often hurts more than the injury. The blood slows to a trickle and then clots, the veins knitting closed, with the muscle and fat and skin being smoothed out on top of it. In under a minute the only sign of Leck's misdeed is the fresh blood on his face, and left in rivulets down Minette's neck and shoulder..
There is a weary silence. And then with a tone she hates, a voice both terrified and forceful, Minette speaks as she staggers to her feet. “Leave us. You have done enough damage here today.”
There is a calmness to her response, an inevitability come to fruition that causes her to look her son in the eyes as a wickedly sharp horn splits apart muscle and fat. Blood spurts from the wound, but Minette barely feels it at first. Despair is grasping at her throat, stabbing her heart deeper than Leck's horns every could.
This is my son, she thinks as he hisses and screams, coated in her blood.
She collapses to her feet, feeling dizzy. Minette thinks of Felinae and her daughter, of the twisted and grotesque tableaux that mother and son must make. What words can ever explain this?
“Leck, my son. Hush.” Minette says quietly, evenly, her voice sounding faint and unlike her own. “You will scare the child.”
It happens then, without any control or input on her part (but oh how she hopes someday she can control it). Heat, what little there is of it in the mountains' cool spring day, is sucked from the air, almost tangibly. Her skin pulls it in greedily, and the gray mare winces. The healing often hurts more than the injury. The blood slows to a trickle and then clots, the veins knitting closed, with the muscle and fat and skin being smoothed out on top of it. In under a minute the only sign of Leck's misdeed is the fresh blood on his face, and left in rivulets down Minette's neck and shoulder..
There is a weary silence. And then with a tone she hates, a voice both terrified and forceful, Minette speaks as she staggers to her feet. “Leave us. You have done enough damage here today.”
ooc: you can power play with me anytime, Anna. ;-) *grins*