She lays Down || any

[Scorch]

For all she ever was - warrior, princess, impulsive, queen, fiery - Scorch was, ultimately, a mother. To Kaida, Noori, Shahrizai, Simeon, Sarkis, Ea, Leiland, Wrynn, Vi, Volcan, and Rain. Though many still roamed Beqanna, they remained excessively elusive, and her lover's heart ached for the loss of her children. Even to see them now, as adults, Scorch felt would not remedy her severe feelings of loneliness and isolation; she missed the dependency of a child, of the way they trusted her and made her forget about her hardships.

Unfortunately, two things stopped the mare from fulfilling her need for biological children: the first being that her husband remained in the Afterlife, and the second being that, as a result of having been dead herself, she was barren. Her insides would no longer permit her to bear children - and perhaps that was for the best, considering the harem she left behind in the first place.

But that does not mean that she cannot help those still in need of a mother.

The mutilated, aged figure appeared at the entrance of the den on a warm summer day, her heart fluttering nervously. The last time she adopted a child, it had been a magician in disguise, who had severely stabbed her in the back. She hoped that it would go better this time - but even more than that, she desperately hoped that there was a child here at all, even if it included future back stabbing. And how awful of her to hope, for a child to be abandoned - but she did. With all her heart.

A gentle cry sounded not far from where the mare stood, dragon eyes surveying the area in heat vision, quickly finding the source of the noise as a hot figure nestled deep into the ryegrass. Nickering reassuringly in response, Scorch approached the newborn, still wet with afterbirth.

You bitch, she thought. To leave your child so.

"Come, child," Her voice sounded, warm but firm. With her hammer head lowered, the once queen began grooming the filly, maternal instincts taking over, even though this child was not her own. The rasp of her tongue was a reassurance, a promise: I am here for you. I am mother.

When the girl was clean, Scorch nudged her thin dun neck, beckoning her to her feet. "We will go home now, little one. You can tell me your name as we walk - it is not far."