Men. They are confusing and frustrating and yet entirely too important for the survival of generations. Although Wound knows where she stands in terms of the men in her life, she cannot help but wonder as the flutterings wind their way among the linings of her womb. This will be her first pregnancy (and the movement had startled her, when she woke in the middle of the night) but she’s seen the signs of it enough to know what is happening to her body.
She is nervous on many levels, already worried about whether she will be a good enough mother or if Warrick will participate as a father. Her anxiety is on the forefront of her mind — it always will be — but below all of that she is exceptionally happy. Wound has always wanted to be a mother from the very first time she saw a happy little family together in a clearing in the forest. Her family might not be exactly what she dreamt about those years ago, but it will be her family nonetheless.
She finds herself wandering along a trail that led into a field, lost in her thoughts. The warmth of the sun allows her mind to drift where it pleases and, as it often has recently, it brings her to the growth in her womb. Wound is distracted by the sight of large peacock feathers nestled against the greenery of the field. Her coffee eyes catch on the caramel mare swathed in the bright colors like a robe.
The silver bay picks her pace up to a limping trot, ears pricking forward among the entanglement of her silvery mane. As she reaches the other mare, she slows to a walk and then a halt a decent distance away. “Your feathers have brightened my day.” Her words are warm but soft and if she hadn’t announced her presence by the uneven thump of her hooves on the ground her voice might have been lost among the melody of nature. “My name is Wound. Who’re you?”
@[AuroraElis]
She is nervous on many levels, already worried about whether she will be a good enough mother or if Warrick will participate as a father. Her anxiety is on the forefront of her mind — it always will be — but below all of that she is exceptionally happy. Wound has always wanted to be a mother from the very first time she saw a happy little family together in a clearing in the forest. Her family might not be exactly what she dreamt about those years ago, but it will be her family nonetheless.
She finds herself wandering along a trail that led into a field, lost in her thoughts. The warmth of the sun allows her mind to drift where it pleases and, as it often has recently, it brings her to the growth in her womb. Wound is distracted by the sight of large peacock feathers nestled against the greenery of the field. Her coffee eyes catch on the caramel mare swathed in the bright colors like a robe.
The silver bay picks her pace up to a limping trot, ears pricking forward among the entanglement of her silvery mane. As she reaches the other mare, she slows to a walk and then a halt a decent distance away. “Your feathers have brightened my day.” Her words are warm but soft and if she hadn’t announced her presence by the uneven thump of her hooves on the ground her voice might have been lost among the melody of nature. “My name is Wound. Who’re you?”
@[AuroraElis]