giving birth, anyone;

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

The throes of birth have become intimate with Scorch. Nine births later, little has changed in the rat-like woman. If anything, motherhood has steeled her spine. One must deal with whining, crying, and over all bullshitting when parenting. If that wasn’t enough, plenty of her children were simply ass-pains; stubborn Kaida, wild Noori, dead Rain, unloyal Simeon, lackadaisical Shahrizai, stuck-up Ea, over-the-top Wrynn, disappeared Leiland, and now adorably disobedient Sarkis. And she thought ruling a kingdom would be difficult.

Unlike Sunday, Scorch cannot feel when a Sister falls into labour. She can, however, hear the struggles, the pain, and the rejoicing. The naked woman moves slowly towards the scene, vines brushing against her ragged skin. A part of her itches to switch her vision to heat so that she may watch the miracle unravel, but the better part of her respects Myrina’s privacy.

The Khaleesi slips into the thicket just behind Sunday, silence growing between the sisters and the two newborn colts. Maneuvering her way to the children, she slowly nuzzles the standing palomino, then the lying-down bay. She moves in this cautious fashion to dissuade defensive instincts from firing up in Myrina; Scorch means no harm.

“Welcome to the Jungle, nephews Rhonan and Tytos.” She murmurs as she raises her head to its original positioning. "Our family seems prone to twins," She muses allowed with a slice of amusement. Offering a proud smile to their mother and her “blood” sister, Scorch steps a few polite steps back, not wishing to crowd, but rather to offer her silent approval and sisterly affection.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle