Lior’s joy is contagious. It breathes into Nayl as she watches the interaction between father and son, never having expected that the sight would be so fulfilling. Her heart patters against her ribs, warming with every breath as her autumn eyes dance from one to the other. It’s almost tempting to leave them to their own and to bond and talk, but alternatively, she can’t pull her attention from the two. Even as her stomach churns with life, her attention stays funneled on Lior and Castile as they touch and smile and talk.
”Dragonborn?” the boy asks with heightened interest, his body humming with excitement. There’s a boyish, lopsided grin that finds itself painted across his face before he turns back to look at mother. ”Yes, my son,” Nayl responds with a fondness, ”just like your father.” In her eyes, she sees strength and power; Castile will be an unstoppable force. Lior, however, likely only sees pride in his son, and perfection in every way. ”Perhaps you can show him the ropes, Lior,” she says, punctuated by a sharp intake of air. Castile notices, but he can’t resist looking back to his father, his wings extending. ”Yes, please!” He rears back, his forelegs flailing, but his balance forces him back down sooner than wanted. ”I want to fly and shift. Mom hasn’t been able to teach me since she doesn’t have wings.” A slightly apologetic smile spreads in attempt to mask her increasing pain.
She wants so bad to watch them, to see them take flight together and to reach into their souls to extract the powerful monster within. It would warm her heart more, ease her anxiety of parenthood, but then there is another jolt of pain that reels her a step backward. ”I believe it’s time for our second child to be welcomed into the world.” Their family of coastal dragons will expand now.
Nayl only half expects the boys to follow her to the mouth of the cave. Lior’s scent is still prominent here, reassuring her as she steps just beyond the entrance to lie down. ”This is where you were born, Castile,” she spares him a brief glance before her mind tumbles with pain, contractions, breathing, and pushing.
It doesn’t take long, or so it doesn’t seem. Lior and Castile are here, and her skin is being periodically kissed by the salty breeze. Another breath and another push. The pressure eases and the pain subsides. There is a warmth pooling behind her and a body leaning against her hindquarters. Nayl rolls herself up then, her fiery eyes peering down at the filly. ”Isobell,” her voice is husky, tired, but she musters the energy to look at the boys. ”You have a daughter and sister.” But she sees a potential heir for Nerine, a powerful child that will quickly find her place in the world – here or elsewhere – and so Nayl forces herself to stand with her remaining energy to try and help Isobell nurse.
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