the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply It’s cold. Of all the first thoughts in life, it is probably not a unique complaint.
And it’s wet. Again, most likely not a unique second complaint.
He shivers, his smoky black skin rippling in the crisp early morning air. Unhappily, he emits a weak, irritable bleat, entirely unaccustomed to the lack of an ever-present warm, comforting hug.
His eyes crack open slowly, and for the first time ever, the warm shades of dawn flood his vision. He quickly shuts his eyes, unsure what to make of such blinding brightness, as he lets out another unhappy cry.
But his curiosity (and discontent) get the better of him, and he forces his eyes open again – wider this time. For another moment, he is blinded by the brilliance of light, but slowly he begins to make out shapes and hues. Most of the world around him seems two colors, he notes… whatever above him is one color, and the lower half of the world is another. Blues and greens, a wiser horse might call them, but he’s too busy taking them in for the first time.
His dark eyes are wide, hungrily drinking in the new colors and shapes as more and more come into focus. He sees tall, lanky things in the distance, vertical brown trunks leading to pink buds emerging within a cloud of green. He sees distant specs gliding across the blue sky, with one occasionally dropping to land into one of the green clouds. And next to him, he sees a mound of brilliant gold, and for some reason, he feels compelled to cry out to it.
But the gold shape does nothing.
He bleats again, feeling his little stomach rumbling unhappily.
Still nothing.
He inches his little dark muzzle towards the shape until his whiskers brush against it. The shape is soft and warm, but motionless. Yet, something in him knows that the shape is the source of comfort and sustenance, and he bleats again in vain.
Nothing.
Following a final feeble cry of frustration, he lets out a small sigh and lowers his head to the ground, too weak to attempt again. 
The strange dapple seemed to find comfort within the atmosphere of abandonment that the Den offered, with an air of malefic contempt and immense defacement Vianne felt compelled to quest her dainty hooves upon its grounds. It was as if she was determined to find something to quench this driving need to sedate her loneliness. Sure the Golden Plains was beautiful and it offered the eccentric mare plenty of sustenance and safety, still something pulled her from that sanctuary. This wasn't the first time she had ventured on these grounds, nuzzling the discarded, discolored and lifeless bebes that peppered the grounds before her. Even when their was no breath escaping from the chambers of their precious little lungs, she often laid her lean body against theirs to offer them some sort of safety, dismissing the fact that they were nothing more than just a wasted shell. Grooming their pelts and hair incessantly until she realized that there was no amount of touch that could keep the horrific smell of decay away from their swollen tendons.
Her endeavors seemed meaningless today as she meandered through the Den, lost within her own thoughts. Even her steps seemed gluttonous as they stepped on anything that was now in her way. Obsidian shadows lingered, traced over the archaic denizen of the Den, waking behind her every step until something caught her attention with rapt interest. Vianne's ears flicked up from their pathetic lull at the sounds of a cry, the sounds of innocence and broken rhapsodies. It pulled at her center to move forward towards the source of all the commotion.
the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply It does not take much time for the initial rumblings in his stomach to morph into an incessant growl. He had never known hunger – not where he came from (not that his little mind understood where he came from), but he quickly decides that he does not enjoy this strange feeling. He feels the contractions of his small tummy continue, and with a feeble grunt, pushes his small dark muzzle towards his side. By now, the wetness of birth had begun to dry, clinging to his dark coat in an unpleasant manner. He feels the caking along his coat as he touches his small barrel, but the rumbling continues.
Dejected, he turns his head back towards the golden form – still motionless as ever. Off in the distance, behind the lifeless shape, he spies movement in a pale form. He watches it for a moment as it enlarges, but he does not know what it is. Nevertheless, he manages another weak bleat. To the golden mare or the pale figure, he does not know. Instead, he whimpers again faintly, crying to anyone or anything that would listen.
02-06-2016, 02:29 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-06-2016, 02:29 PM by Vianne.)
Steadying herself only about thirty feet away from the bebe, she acknowledged a distinct noise of crying fastly piquing her ears up before she started to quest in that direction with leaden foot steps. With a scanty trot forward Vianne perceived that the noise was coming from a new born foal whom seemed to still try to find comforts up against the corpse of it's mother. Vianne was able to hear the thrumming sounds of her heart racing in her head, she knew she had to make decisions quickly now and not linger in her own idiotic thoughts. Upon approaching the baby foal, Vianne slowed down her steps to not cause it any dismay. Descending her posture a little so that she was able to touch his nose with her own, it was fuzzy yet sticky, like an over ripened peache that had been out in the sun for way too long " hello little one" she cooed delicately at him.
Such assailing promise burned elegantly across the livid flames of her khol-lined eyes, so too did the voracious horizon dance with the raking storm of her insatiable need to coddle this foal and make it her own. The taste of restless slumber drifted softly thru the empty Dens corridors. Its cajoling moans hushing and beguiling quieter, languishing whispers of a woman's regret, as her winds echoed thru the soft thicket of grass that surrounded them; tempting and enticing in its immaculate push and pull. Vianne began the tender task in using her long tongue and the nibble of her teeth to begin manicuring the babies pelt with the out-most consideration. The idea that she was cleaning another mother's after birth did little too affect or sway her from the task at hand " you're safe now" she offered him solace.
the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply With hungry eyes, he watches the pale figure near. He’s still too young and naïve to understand the potential of danger, and thus, it is with eager bleating that he greets her approach. She is movement and life whereas there had been nothing but stillness before, and that motion drew and kept his attention quickly. He shivers as her muzzle makes contact with his, more from surprise at the warmth of her breath and softness of her skin than anything else. His little nostrils twitch, and with a deep inhale, he drinks up her scent.
“Étienne,” he bleats, though he himself is unaware of the source of the word. Somewhere deep in in the depth of his mind, he recalls the sound repeated to him, over and over, each time in a loving, sincere womanly tone. “Étienne,” he coos again, not knowing what else to say, while his big black eyes follow her each and every movement.
As she begins to clean him, he finds his little lips curling into a happy smile. He lets out another small whimper as he pushes himself closer to her. She is warm, he realizes, whatever she’s doing… it feels so good! He lifts his little head higher up, and with a happy grunt, he buries his muzzle into her coat with content, his hunger momentarily forgotten.
Viannes gentle breath ushers a soft wisps through the bebe's hair, swirling the tufts tumultuously about, then caressed Étienne's tiny features " hello Etienne" her voice was barely under above a whisper as to not startle him. It seemd that they both were becoming familiar with each other, imprinting one anther's scent and sounds. There was a a little tremble rumbling in the babies belly and Vianne understood what that was, but she was uncertain how to full-fill the Bebes needs for sustenance. Looking around she noticed the shell of what was once his mother., whom now laid In a sullen slumber. The broken horned mare knew exactly what Etienne needed and she was hoping that even if her horn was broken she could some how manipulate the milk glands from the mother onto herself in order to provide and become a nurturer.
" Are you hungry?" Her tone purred quietly along the cusp of his pointed ear. It was a difficult feat to move away from the tot for even a moment, as she approached the dead mare with precaution and fear that death itself may rise and take Vianne by the mane, only to pull them both back down into the depths from where it came from. Vianne wasn't exactly sure if this would work when she pushed the jagged ends of her silver horn to the belly of the deceased mare.
the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply “Mama!” he bleats as she pulls away, unwilling to lose this new source of comfort. He watches her as she nears the golden figure, but his gaze is entirely on the gray. Why did she leave, he wonders to himself. But she isn’t that far, he realizes after a frightened moment, and finds himself wanting to follow.
He pushes out with dark haunches, willing himself to rise… to return to her. For a moment, he feels his small body lifting from the ground, and he intuitively pushes out with his forelimbs as well. And for a moment, he stands, a small gray body on wobbly stilts, and his hunger is again forgotten in a second of pride.
But quickly he tumbles back down into a small pile of fluff.
With a small hrmph, he repeats his first attempt, and this time, he finds himself standing successfully. Grinning from ear to ear, he gingerly takes one step forward… then another… then another until he has successfully returned to the gray mare’s side.
Not fulling grasping why, he reaches beneath her, eagerly lapping at whatever might exist. Luckily, he quickly latches on and soon, his belly begins to fill with much welcomed sustenance. Hungrily and noisily he drinks, feeling the warmth expand his small tummy. After a couple minutes, fully content, he hiccups softly and pulls his heads out from beneath her to watch her curiously.
The words mama hymned in Vianes alerted ears, picking up even the gentle thrums of the bebes tender heart while she turned her neck so that she was able to nuzzle Etienne to give him reassurance that she wasn't leaving him. Her nose affectionately took in the smell of his pelt, noticing how the sun warmed it. Vianne wanted desperately to be a mother, to belong to someone else that needed her just as much as she needed them. Luckily she was able to adopt the dead mares ability to nurture the bebe , being quite painful at first which sent a vivid shock through her nerves, then she settled down to allow her adopted son the time to fill his tiny belly up with warm milk " it's ok my darling... feed" Vianne murmured. Motherhood seemed to be aligned with the lonely mare as it showed with ever ounce of attention she was giving Etienne. She wasn't certain what the future for either of them will hold but she was for certain now, that she was going to fight for it even if she had a bad hand in her genetics.
{ hope this was ok}
the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply As he feels the gentle nuzzle, he beams with happiness. It was such a nice feeling, this not being alone, and he eagerly cherished the warmth she provided, both in the physical as well as the mental sense. Happily he lets out another small nicker, his little stub of a tail swishing about his tiny hindquarters in glee.
But now, both warm and with a full tummy, his curiosity begins to grow. His small dark eyes watches her for a moment as he stands still in front of her. Suddenly, he bounds off, but does not wander far. His little hooves taps the ground lightly as he playfully circles her, lifting his lanky legs high and nipping at her tail in the process. He then quickly skids to a halt before her and beams with sheer glee. His head cocks slightly, as if to ask, now what?
|
