07-20-2017, 12:00 AM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
The anguish was nearly too much, but tightly, her jaw clenched and with each deep, excruciating contraction that clutched at the rounded swell of her abdomen, and she was forced to bear it. Swathed in darkness and aching with a tender agony, she lay in solitude, breathless and drenched in a sheen of sweat – gilded and pale beneath the light of the wayward moon. Unaware of his presence. Unaware of anything but her own suffering. Birth had never been so unbearable before, and a trickling of blood traverses the length of her hind-leg, pooling on the ground as she rises, with particles of dust and sand clinging tightly to the perspiration dampening her skin. Exhaustion had already begun to settle in between every joint, every crook and crevice of her body, but weary and worn, she pressed on, urging her son to stand upon beautifully carved, but unsteady legs.
Gently, she pries away the remnants of membrane clinging to his pale skin as Ledger quietly watches, and softly her teeth preen and pluck at his dampened mane, standing erect and prickling the surface of her tongue. Her breath is warm across his cheek, and neck, where her mouth presses a soft and breathy kiss – in awe of his existence, as she had been of all her children. From the tender, sinewy tendons of her safely kept and fiercely guarded heartstrings, her deep and unwavering love is revealed with every gentle murmur of encouragement and affection.
But then –
With a soft exhale, she can feel his presence.
And quietly, her golden flecked eyes bore into his back, tracing the bony line of his rigid spine and long and slender neck. Her breath catches in her throat (as it always seems to do in his presence – her heart is pitter-pattering yet again within her chest, but for a much different reason than it had before) and her mouth is parched and dry; her voice rendered useless – if she could even find the words. Beside her, her son is nestled close, seeking a swollen teat and her warmth against the unrelenting ocean breeze and the thick mist it carried with it.
She is no longer looking at the skeletal outline of his figure, but she can feel the weight and intensity of his gaze steadied upon her. Quietly, she traces the hardened outline of his cheek, the hollow of his too-tired eye, the void where another should be – tucked away beneath the darkness, the pale sunlight cannot unveil itself, as it has yet to rise above the dimly lit horizon.
Thoughtfully, she moves closer to him, pressing the warmth of her pale mouth against his jaw, and then down to his shoulder, where the salty brine of the sea is lingering across the sharpened ridge of his bone. Her son is curious and cautious of his presence, but he does not say a word – he does not make a sound, instead curling himself up against his mother’s sweat-slicked and still swollen barrel, while she eases her aching bones against the one her heart could not be still for. Ledger had come, wordless but with a shadow of worry in the gleam of his gold-flecked eye – protective, but not possessive as he had been before.
She does not fight it. She ached for it, though she dare not admit it. She had always longed to feel safe within the harbor of another, but she could not permit her voice to admit to it. Alas, her ego would do her no good beneath the pale light of dawn with her quivering legs, and so she merely presses against him, urging him to be her strength, as her body felt shaky and weak from the exertion of birth and trickling blood loss. She had longed for his presence for too long to urge him away.
(She had always been the protector – the fighter, the warrior, the rebel – but his watchful eye and deep, unwavering concern is enough to sooth her doubt. She cannot always be a pillar of strength.)
There was much to say, much to be said, but she is too faint and lethargic yet. Her energy would eventually return itself to her, and her seeping wounds and aching muscles would mend themselves in time – but for now, she is whittled down to the bone and weary, and his presence soothes her restless soul while she awaits the father of her child.
Gently, she pries away the remnants of membrane clinging to his pale skin as Ledger quietly watches, and softly her teeth preen and pluck at his dampened mane, standing erect and prickling the surface of her tongue. Her breath is warm across his cheek, and neck, where her mouth presses a soft and breathy kiss – in awe of his existence, as she had been of all her children. From the tender, sinewy tendons of her safely kept and fiercely guarded heartstrings, her deep and unwavering love is revealed with every gentle murmur of encouragement and affection.
But then –
With a soft exhale, she can feel his presence.
And quietly, her golden flecked eyes bore into his back, tracing the bony line of his rigid spine and long and slender neck. Her breath catches in her throat (as it always seems to do in his presence – her heart is pitter-pattering yet again within her chest, but for a much different reason than it had before) and her mouth is parched and dry; her voice rendered useless – if she could even find the words. Beside her, her son is nestled close, seeking a swollen teat and her warmth against the unrelenting ocean breeze and the thick mist it carried with it.
She is no longer looking at the skeletal outline of his figure, but she can feel the weight and intensity of his gaze steadied upon her. Quietly, she traces the hardened outline of his cheek, the hollow of his too-tired eye, the void where another should be – tucked away beneath the darkness, the pale sunlight cannot unveil itself, as it has yet to rise above the dimly lit horizon.
Thoughtfully, she moves closer to him, pressing the warmth of her pale mouth against his jaw, and then down to his shoulder, where the salty brine of the sea is lingering across the sharpened ridge of his bone. Her son is curious and cautious of his presence, but he does not say a word – he does not make a sound, instead curling himself up against his mother’s sweat-slicked and still swollen barrel, while she eases her aching bones against the one her heart could not be still for. Ledger had come, wordless but with a shadow of worry in the gleam of his gold-flecked eye – protective, but not possessive as he had been before.
She does not fight it. She ached for it, though she dare not admit it. She had always longed to feel safe within the harbor of another, but she could not permit her voice to admit to it. Alas, her ego would do her no good beneath the pale light of dawn with her quivering legs, and so she merely presses against him, urging him to be her strength, as her body felt shaky and weak from the exertion of birth and trickling blood loss. She had longed for his presence for too long to urge him away.
(She had always been the protector – the fighter, the warrior, the rebel – but his watchful eye and deep, unwavering concern is enough to sooth her doubt. She cannot always be a pillar of strength.)
There was much to say, much to be said, but she is too faint and lethargic yet. Her energy would eventually return itself to her, and her seeping wounds and aching muscles would mend themselves in time – but for now, she is whittled down to the bone and weary, and his presence soothes her restless soul while she awaits the father of her child.
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck