05-02-2016, 12:19 PM
Labor is a bitch. I'm not going to go into detail, because it's no one's damn business but mine. Not even my mother's, and I told her as much when I felt her nearby, watching, hovering, trying to ease the pain. Told her to fuck straight off, that I didn't want her here. I think she actually listened too, because I couldn't feel her with me after I yelled at her and told her not to come back. It didn't hurt at all that she listened. That she gave up without a fight, that she walked away instead of shoving her nose in where it wasn't welcome and left me alone to do the hardest goddamn thing I've ever done.
It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Exhausted, but fine. And the kid? It's wriggling next to me on the ground and trying to tear its way out of the birth sac, so I reach out and help, tearing a hole so it can gasp in its first breath of air. It sits up, panting, and we just stare at each other. Dark eyes, brown verging on black. Like mine, but a little darker still. And it looks...well, wet and awkward and covered in disgusting fluids and whatnot, but beneath all that it's...like a little inverted me. The violet of its coat is much more red than my hair, and the scruffy sky blue of its mane is brighter than my powder blue coat. But there's a lot of awkward baby me in the lines of its face, the bony angle of its shoulder, the flare of its nostrils as it sucks in another breath.
Those dark eyes watch me, and there's no expression in them. Not curiosity, not hunger, not confusion or excitement or even a dazed blankness. Just not-quite-black staring straight at me, waiting. Neither of us make any move to rise, just recovering from the shared ordeal of getting it out of my body and into the world. Breathing and watching, still joined together by its umbilical cord. I finally rise when I work up the energy to move, and that cord breaks, leaving my little monster on its own for the first time. With a disgusted wince, I lower my head toward the kid and start cleaning off all the gross fluids and bits of birth sac and whatnot. It's not a job I relish by any means, but it needs doing, and I'm sure as hell not going to leave it to little demon to accomplish.
The whole time, it just stares at me, quiet and watchful. When I'm done, and it...and he is finally clean and relatively dry, I give him a little nudge behind the withers and he snorts at me and bumps me back. “Up you get, tiny beast,” I tell him, lipping at his sky blue mane. He nudges me again, then methodically props one tiny hoof against the earth, then another. He tries to stand, but those legs aren't used to freedom and he falls. Those dark eyes narrow, and I can't quite tell if it's irritation or determination. Either way, he plants those tiny hooves again, so precise, so exacting in their placement. It doesn't take long before he's standing on shaky, spindly legs, his dark gaze distant as he works out how to operate a body that's used to being confined and is suddenly able to stretch out and move.
“Food's this way.” I show him with a gesture, and he slowly makes his way over, more focused on the act of walking than on his destination. One foot, two, coordinating the muscles and propelling himself forward. Another determined snort, and then he's beside me, ducking his brightly colored head under my belly and latching on and learning to nurse. Atta boy, monster. It's not so hard.
He doesn't nurse long, and then it's back to standing and watching. “You got a name, kid, or is that my job?” I came out declaring myself Dare, barely tolerating the longer name my mothers gave me to pretty it up a bit. So if he's got ideas, I'm all ears. But he just tilts his head a little and stares. Right. My job it is, then. “How do you feel about Tycho?” A long stare. One slow blink, and then the kid nods his head once.
“Alright, Tycho. I'm Ryss. Feel free to call me mom or whatever, that's up to you.” He looks me over, from the violet of my forelock all the way down to the edge of my hooves and back up, then nods again, this time with a quick little exhale for emphasis. “Quiet one, huh?” His only response is to bump his shoulder against me and then go back to walking, learning how his body works while I go about the rather hideous business of passing and disposing of afterbirth.
When it's on the ground, he perks up and comes over, studying it with those dark eyes of his. He prods the gelatinous mass with one tiny hoof, then lowers his head to sniff at it. “Gross, right?” He tilts his little head at me, then sniffs the placenta again, squishing a little of it beneath his exploring hoof. “That's how I fed you before you came out. That and the umbilical cord that connected the outside of your belly to the inside of mine.” The kid looks at my belly, at the mass of tissue on the ground, at himself. He ducks his head between his front legs and tilts it, trying to see where part of that cord still dangles from his abdomen. That doesn't work so well, so he stretches around to look from a different angle. I reach out and touch my nose to the end of the cord to show him, and he nods again.
When he lowers himself to the ground, I expect him to take a nap; being born is hard work, and I don't know about him, but I could sure as hell use a nap. Instead, he settles in to watch while I get rid of the evidence. “You're a little weirdo, you know that?” I ask. He just tilts his head, so I shrug and eat the afterbirth. Even if it's disgusting. When it's gone, he closes his eyes and takes that nap. Exhausted, I stand over him, keeping watch over my little demon even as I sneak in a quick rest.
It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Exhausted, but fine. And the kid? It's wriggling next to me on the ground and trying to tear its way out of the birth sac, so I reach out and help, tearing a hole so it can gasp in its first breath of air. It sits up, panting, and we just stare at each other. Dark eyes, brown verging on black. Like mine, but a little darker still. And it looks...well, wet and awkward and covered in disgusting fluids and whatnot, but beneath all that it's...like a little inverted me. The violet of its coat is much more red than my hair, and the scruffy sky blue of its mane is brighter than my powder blue coat. But there's a lot of awkward baby me in the lines of its face, the bony angle of its shoulder, the flare of its nostrils as it sucks in another breath.
Those dark eyes watch me, and there's no expression in them. Not curiosity, not hunger, not confusion or excitement or even a dazed blankness. Just not-quite-black staring straight at me, waiting. Neither of us make any move to rise, just recovering from the shared ordeal of getting it out of my body and into the world. Breathing and watching, still joined together by its umbilical cord. I finally rise when I work up the energy to move, and that cord breaks, leaving my little monster on its own for the first time. With a disgusted wince, I lower my head toward the kid and start cleaning off all the gross fluids and bits of birth sac and whatnot. It's not a job I relish by any means, but it needs doing, and I'm sure as hell not going to leave it to little demon to accomplish.
The whole time, it just stares at me, quiet and watchful. When I'm done, and it...and he is finally clean and relatively dry, I give him a little nudge behind the withers and he snorts at me and bumps me back. “Up you get, tiny beast,” I tell him, lipping at his sky blue mane. He nudges me again, then methodically props one tiny hoof against the earth, then another. He tries to stand, but those legs aren't used to freedom and he falls. Those dark eyes narrow, and I can't quite tell if it's irritation or determination. Either way, he plants those tiny hooves again, so precise, so exacting in their placement. It doesn't take long before he's standing on shaky, spindly legs, his dark gaze distant as he works out how to operate a body that's used to being confined and is suddenly able to stretch out and move.
“Food's this way.” I show him with a gesture, and he slowly makes his way over, more focused on the act of walking than on his destination. One foot, two, coordinating the muscles and propelling himself forward. Another determined snort, and then he's beside me, ducking his brightly colored head under my belly and latching on and learning to nurse. Atta boy, monster. It's not so hard.
He doesn't nurse long, and then it's back to standing and watching. “You got a name, kid, or is that my job?” I came out declaring myself Dare, barely tolerating the longer name my mothers gave me to pretty it up a bit. So if he's got ideas, I'm all ears. But he just tilts his head a little and stares. Right. My job it is, then. “How do you feel about Tycho?” A long stare. One slow blink, and then the kid nods his head once.
“Alright, Tycho. I'm Ryss. Feel free to call me mom or whatever, that's up to you.” He looks me over, from the violet of my forelock all the way down to the edge of my hooves and back up, then nods again, this time with a quick little exhale for emphasis. “Quiet one, huh?” His only response is to bump his shoulder against me and then go back to walking, learning how his body works while I go about the rather hideous business of passing and disposing of afterbirth.
When it's on the ground, he perks up and comes over, studying it with those dark eyes of his. He prods the gelatinous mass with one tiny hoof, then lowers his head to sniff at it. “Gross, right?” He tilts his little head at me, then sniffs the placenta again, squishing a little of it beneath his exploring hoof. “That's how I fed you before you came out. That and the umbilical cord that connected the outside of your belly to the inside of mine.” The kid looks at my belly, at the mass of tissue on the ground, at himself. He ducks his head between his front legs and tilts it, trying to see where part of that cord still dangles from his abdomen. That doesn't work so well, so he stretches around to look from a different angle. I reach out and touch my nose to the end of the cord to show him, and he nods again.
When he lowers himself to the ground, I expect him to take a nap; being born is hard work, and I don't know about him, but I could sure as hell use a nap. Instead, he settles in to watch while I get rid of the evidence. “You're a little weirdo, you know that?” I ask. He just tilts his head, so I shrug and eat the afterbirth. Even if it's disgusting. When it's gone, he closes his eyes and takes that nap. Exhausted, I stand over him, keeping watch over my little demon even as I sneak in a quick rest.
Daeryssa
of the restless heart