04-09-2016, 08:37 AM
someday i'll soar, someday i'll be so much more,
because i'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.
because i'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.
Everything is blurry. What was once warm, cradling comfort was now met with the cruel harshness of ice and frost, but the only thing that he could register within his mind was cold. The radiating warmth closest to him beckoned to him and he ached to move closer, arching to it as a gentle, blooming blossom stretches towards the sun.
Soon soft, gentle kisses are upon his skin and he hears the familiar rumble of a kind, loving voice. He bleats weakly in response, as his little heart hammers excitedly within the small entrapment of his newly formed chest. Her whiskered lips brush over his splattered two-toned pelt as she cleanses his skin and caresses him with adoration, and he knows instantly. Mother.
She peels the birthing sac away from his damp flesh, drying him with her tongue and he longs to be closer to her. His gaze begins to focus and he looks deeply into her dark brown eyes and her warmth overtakes him. She cradles him close and he bleats again, softly, nestling into her, desperate for her comfort. It is only then, as she breathes his name - Argo - that he sees the massive, scarred male leaning towards him.
He knows no fear, for the same grinding, gritty voice that rumbles from his chest (as he whispers those three words so softly to his mother) is the same one that so often caused his mother's heart to pitter patter so quickly, so close to him within the womb. It was the same voice that mingled many times with hers, and so he knows instantly. Father.
Everything is cold, damp and uncomfortable, but beautiful, soothing and warm, all at once.
He is where he should be; and where he would always be.
Soon soft, gentle kisses are upon his skin and he hears the familiar rumble of a kind, loving voice. He bleats weakly in response, as his little heart hammers excitedly within the small entrapment of his newly formed chest. Her whiskered lips brush over his splattered two-toned pelt as she cleanses his skin and caresses him with adoration, and he knows instantly. Mother.
She peels the birthing sac away from his damp flesh, drying him with her tongue and he longs to be closer to her. His gaze begins to focus and he looks deeply into her dark brown eyes and her warmth overtakes him. She cradles him close and he bleats again, softly, nestling into her, desperate for her comfort. It is only then, as she breathes his name - Argo - that he sees the massive, scarred male leaning towards him.
He knows no fear, for the same grinding, gritty voice that rumbles from his chest (as he whispers those three words so softly to his mother) is the same one that so often caused his mother's heart to pitter patter so quickly, so close to him within the womb. It was the same voice that mingled many times with hers, and so he knows instantly. Father.
Everything is cold, damp and uncomfortable, but beautiful, soothing and warm, all at once.
He is where he should be; and where he would always be.
Argo
the fragile ice prince