nothing's only words; birthing

[magnus]

— find what you love and let it kill you —

Magnus always had a soft spot for children.

While he had not been a model father, he had loved the moments of quiet with his children when they were young, when their limbs where long and coltish. Somewhere, Canaan wandered with Ellyse around the land. Somewhere, Hawke was getting her bearings. One of his greatest hopes for Tephra was that it would be a place where families would be safe; where mothers would feel protected with their young. So perhaps the sight of Eira with her flock struck a special chord in his heart as he looked upon them.

At Taiga’s enthusiasm, he laughed and gave a kind look to Eira, one parent to another. Something in the young mare’s zeal, he saw Amorette and his memory flashed back to the filly rushing up to gaze upon his then-wings, her eyes wide with wonder. His gaze softened as he dipped his head down to her level. “Hi there.” He took an exaggerated sniff. “You smell like it too!” His smile grew lopsided.

“I do indeed live here. My name is Magnus. What’s yours?”

He lifted his head to look toward her mother, hoping to put her at ease. He knew some stallions grew uneasy around children, especially those that were not their own, but that had never been Magnus. He did not want Eira to feel as if she had to keep her children on a short leash on his behalf. “No apologies needed. I have found enthusiasm usually means a hunger for knowledge and a zeal for life. You are lucky to have children so open to the world.” The alternative, of course, was to have a child who was closed off, secluded, brooding—one guarded or hurt. It was refreshing to see that some children still lived fearlessly.

magnus