Cerva doesn’t know which is more painful: the contractions wracking her body or the fact that she is abandoned and alone. Her heart has already crumbled into thousands of pieces, but now it isn’t just emotional pain, but physical. Every fiber of her body and soul are quivering under weight of what she has lost and what she no longer is.
As a child, she had been a princess. She had parents and she had brothers, but they all disappeared.
For a brief while, she had a home in the Valley, then eventually the Gates, but the Reckoning took away both kingdoms.
She had companionship through Longear and Magnus, but they have since moved on with their lives while Cerva remained behind and groveled.
Dovev was her happiness, but alas, that joy came to a close with a door slamming in her face.
Now, there is this child she has been conceiving for months. What should bring elation only brings personal destruction.
A rattled breath chases another stabbing contraction that forces her to her knees. She was successful only in reaching the treeline so that she may be away from prying eyes. She wants herself forgotten, this birth just another in this bitter world. Years ago, Cerva had anticipated that her first child would be borne into a loving family so that she could give it what she always lacked and wanted. Once upon a time, Cerva had high hopes and aspirations for her life, but she was never destined for any of that.
Pain. Heartbreak. Abandonment. Rejection.
Those are the only things she knows. Growing up in the shadow of her family only to face one tormenting obstacle after another. This hard world could never strengthen Cerva; it only weakened her bit by bit. This is her breaking point as she lies down in the leaves and lets nature take its course. The pain of giving birth is nothing like having lost Dovev, she muses as her eyes shut in agony.
Blood and fluid pools around her hindquarters. Her skin is soaked, but when a leg shifts she can feel the small body lying there quietly. For a fleeting moment, Cerva considers standing and leaving without even a glance back to see what she has given birth to, but her heart – although shattered – is still far too large to ever let her run from this. An exhausted sigh slips through her pursed lips as she rises and turns to look at the piebald resting in the grass. The child’s ears swivel curiously as her muzzle lifts to the air to suck in her first large breath of air. A feeble smile shadows Cerva’s pretty face, but sorrow immediately paints over as she truly sees her daughter for the first time.
There are no eyes, only empty sockets that twitch with unnecessary nerves. A chill runs down the length of Cerva’s spine, but she still steps forward and croons to the child before touching her damp coat. ”You will be Atrani,” her voice is barely above a whisper as her nose glides toward the foal’s ears, ”and you will never see the bitter horrors of this world.” Weak and exhausted, Cerva lies back down and rests her head on the newborn – the painful reminder she is forced to live with – and watches as the world flies by.
Cerva