12-13-2017, 10:35 AM
I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.
She hears the summons; even from where she stands on the shoreline of their small island, she hears it. The little mare gathers the first of her foals to her side and bunts him forward with her nose when he gives her a questioning look because she does not let him leave this small nook of the volcanic world in which they call their own. She has kept him close, like a secret, because he is hers through fortune and thievery. Femur has discovered something that she is good at besides loving her wild blue mate - mothering those that are left so carelessly alone. She lets loose a call of her own for the girl that has trailed her homeward, knowing that she moves more freely about than the little blue boy following her does. The girl will show when she decides to, kingdom matters are still above their grasp at this age and Femur encourages them to love their innocence a little longer.
So the pair comes;
Femur looks upon the coronation of the stallion that she has met but once and taken an instant liking to (rare for her, given that she only likes her babies and Longclaw) but he’d come to aid in another’s pitiful situation and she had been ever glad of that. Something about those moments together had shaped the beginnings of a bond that Femur felt she ought to pursue at a later date when the stallion is not busy in his initial moments as the new Overseer. She expects that her mate is somewhere nearby, forever patrolling when he is not plumbing the depths of her singular sharp adoration for him.
Her eyes find Wound, sees the way she looks at Warrick with a small sunny smile and something that Femur recognizes as joy in her eyes. Femur had only ever looked at Longclaw that way, but she tucks her sly grin into her cheek and musters a more respectable smile albeit fanged for the navy-pointed stallion that addresses them all. There is a brief moment where her mouth touches the speckled brow of the colt at her side, blowing a breath against his fur in an airy kiss. Wildling has no clue what is happening except that it is momentous enough to have drawn her mother out from beside the meranti tree in their own nook of the world.
Femur