07-07-2019, 04:41 AM
When she had first felt that familiar flutter of life growing inside of her, she had been elated. It had been so long since they last had children; so long since the last time she had been able to see them blink their eyes open for the first time, and stare in wonder at how her and Jarris could possibly make something so perfect. And she knew, not that far in, that it was twins. She had learned with Kennice and Kensley what it felt like, and now she recognized the feeling of not one, but two heartbeats coming to life. It made her heart ache a little, to think of them – their first set of twins, and possibly the two children that had been the most like both of them. A true mirror image of their hearts creating something new, but she had to push that longing and sorrow aside. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t do her any good, and instead she chose to focus on the good – that Jarris was still here, and that come spring, their newest children would be here, too.
But nature had other ideas, as it so often did. She tried hard to ignore the pains that gripped her sides early in the evening, closing her eyes and silently willing it to just be that the babies were feeling restless. Curling closer into Jarris’ side, burying her nose in the wild tangles of his mane, she bit her lip against another, more urgent pain, until eventually she couldn’t deny it any longer. It was too early, and it was cold, with snow still on the ground outside of the shelter of the trees she had secluded herself in, but that didn’t change anything.
The watery moonlight can hardly strain through the trees when she is at last forced to the ground, and what little light there is finds the copper of her skin and catches where her neck and sides grow damp with sweat. The night is oddly still and quiet, save for the soft, pained sounds that accompany the arrival of the first filly. She tries to forget the contractions that continue to wrack her body as she turns to inspect the first born; beautiful and bay, and she gently presses her lips to the little girl’s face as she says to Jarris in quiet disbelief, “She has wings.”
She wants so desperately to pull her closer to her, to keep her from shivering in the bitter winter cold, but the imminent arrival of the second filly keeps her from doing so.
Only, this one is not as easy as the first.
It takes too long, and too much effort. She can feel her strength dwindling as the night wears on, and white sweat flecks her neck and flanks, and her red mane plasters to her neck. When their second daughter finally emerges, and the earth around her is torn as a testament to her struggle, she finds that she is too weak to look at her. She lays there, incredibly still save for the shallowness of her breathing, her eyes closed as she tries to find the willpower to at least sit up. The feeling of the newborn stirring behind her is the only reason she finds the strength to do so, and when she turns to find another bay little girl, just like her sister but without the wings, all she can do is whisper meekly, “They’re perfect. Both of them.”
P L U M E R I A
when all of the light is gone
a single spark is all I need.
But nature had other ideas, as it so often did. She tried hard to ignore the pains that gripped her sides early in the evening, closing her eyes and silently willing it to just be that the babies were feeling restless. Curling closer into Jarris’ side, burying her nose in the wild tangles of his mane, she bit her lip against another, more urgent pain, until eventually she couldn’t deny it any longer. It was too early, and it was cold, with snow still on the ground outside of the shelter of the trees she had secluded herself in, but that didn’t change anything.
The watery moonlight can hardly strain through the trees when she is at last forced to the ground, and what little light there is finds the copper of her skin and catches where her neck and sides grow damp with sweat. The night is oddly still and quiet, save for the soft, pained sounds that accompany the arrival of the first filly. She tries to forget the contractions that continue to wrack her body as she turns to inspect the first born; beautiful and bay, and she gently presses her lips to the little girl’s face as she says to Jarris in quiet disbelief, “She has wings.”
She wants so desperately to pull her closer to her, to keep her from shivering in the bitter winter cold, but the imminent arrival of the second filly keeps her from doing so.
Only, this one is not as easy as the first.
It takes too long, and too much effort. She can feel her strength dwindling as the night wears on, and white sweat flecks her neck and flanks, and her red mane plasters to her neck. When their second daughter finally emerges, and the earth around her is torn as a testament to her struggle, she finds that she is too weak to look at her. She lays there, incredibly still save for the shallowness of her breathing, her eyes closed as she tries to find the willpower to at least sit up. The feeling of the newborn stirring behind her is the only reason she finds the strength to do so, and when she turns to find another bay little girl, just like her sister but without the wings, all she can do is whisper meekly, “They’re perfect. Both of them.”
when all of the light is gone
a single spark is all I need.
@[jarris]