11-26-2018, 02:28 PM
 Winter faded, and as the snow melted and gave way to spring, Daemron grew restless. Long months had passed and Pyxis’ belly had continued to swell to a great size, giving rise to a certain suspicion which the chestnut thought best to keep to himself. He could sense Pyxis’ friable nerves; her gaze was often clouded, and at times there was an undercurrent of tension that rippled almost visibly between them. They loved one another, and yet their love weighed upon her independence – a fact Daemron wrestled against whenever he had to leave her side. No matter how short he kept his excursions to the Tephran borders, a part of him still feared she would be gone when he returned. Throughout the cold season, he had sent out wolves – yet the wolves in this area were wild and unfamiliar to him, and the reach of his influence had its limitations. More often than not, he would eventually lose contact with them, and with Red gone he’d also lost his middle man. He had seen neither hide nor hair of the maned wolf since sending her after Malis at the contagion’s outbreak. Her absence, combined with his inability to provide Pyxis with news of her family, contributed to his own worries and frustrations as the arrival of their offspring drew nearer. When the time came, Daemron wasn’t far. A muscle jumps in his jaw at the sound of her call, laced as it was with urgency, and the wet earth churns underfoot as he races to her side. The next hours are painstaking. He loathes every contraction that wracks her body. He hates that he is unable to spare her from this hurt, and he detests the panic in her eyes that carries her away (the way it takes her far from him). But he is there through it all, his solid presence an anchor to her storm – and when the first child breaks free and the waves still come, he holds strong for her. Though he had suspected twins, his veins surge with a flood of concern as she struggles to bring the second into the world. Yet all Daemron can do is wait with bated breath as he presses murmurs of reassurance against the sweat of Pyxis’ skin. And with a sudden and final cry, it is finished. He looks to their children then – a son and a daughter, fire-bright and breathing as one. A pang sings through his chest: hadn’t he once drawn breath like that with his own brother and sister? But Pyxis is stirring, and Daemron shakes the feeling in order to move alongside her as she stands, in case she needs to lean against him. But she is strong enough, even without him, and he cannot help but feel a strange mixture of both pride and fear as he watches her go and tend to their children. She whispers his name, saying they are a family. That sentence make his heart pound. (Will they always be?) He steps forward, his muzzle trailing along her withers so that his lips might come to rest at the nape of her neck. “We are,” he affirms, for his own sake as much as hers. A sudden possessiveness overcomes him as he looks at Pyxis, and at the twins. “You’re incredible,” he says. “They’re incredible.” And they were – two counterparts entwined – and while he gazes upon their children, he is overcome with warring sensations of satisfaction and trepidation, vigilance and wonder. Gently reaching past Pyxis, Daemron huffs a breath above their small forms to inhale their scent. He leans down and touches the boy’s winged shoulder, the girl’s slender side. “I had a feeling there would be two of you,” he ventures finally, a smile finding its way through his serious expression. Then the stallion turns the grey light of his eyes upon Pyxis, looking back at her curiously. “What will we name them?” daemronlost to the hunt as I was to you |