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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    you're the beacon / longclaw
    #1
    She’s spent most of her winter in the field. Many newcomers had washed onto Beqanna’s shores during the chilly season and so Wound had diligently been helping them to their feet and brushing the wet sand off their shoulders. Whether they came with her to Tephra or chose a different home was something she didn’t care about so long as they were greeted by a gentle face and comforting words to soothe their confusion.

    However, as her sides continue to swell with the growing of her child, Wound finds herself retreating deeper into the comforting, humid embrace of Tephra. There are only so many trips across the sandbank into the frozen forests of the mainland she can make. As her weight grows heavier with the added pressure of her cargo, her leg gains a heavier limp to it as well. Wound finds her joints ache quicker among the chill of the mainland, and each trip seems to stretch longer than the last.

    The warmth of Tephra’s volcano soothes her muscles. Whether she is wading in the salty shores or exploring dark caves or weaving along lava-streams, Wound finds the weather of her island home a comfort compared to the outside. Her decided absence of activity gives her time to think — about the child growing in her womb, about the type of father Warrick will be (if he decides to be one), about the friends she has now (Femur and Longclaw and Epithet), and about the friends she will have in the future.

    Her mind continually returns to Longclaw. Wound has seen the blue stallion around several times in the months since Femur brought her to the shoreline and, although she would consider him an acquaintance, there is little she knows about him besides the snippets she has caught. With all the extra time she has, Wound decides to seek him out. It’s relatively easy to find him, as she’s noticed him prowling on the borders of Tephra.

    The sand is grainy beneath her feet and she clumsily stumbles along to reach the blue commander. Wound’s cheeks are hot with embarrassment when she finally reaches Longclaw. “I must seem like such a klutz, struggling across the sand like that.” There’s humorous laughter to her voice and her eyes sparkle despite the obvious discomfort in her facial expression. The silver bay waits for a moment to catch her breath, ears twitching as the waves quietly lap at the beachfront.


    @[Longclaw]
    #2

    LongClaw

    -I close my eyes, Ignore the smoke-

    Everyone enjoys a surprise from time to time and Longclaw is no exception to this rule. The familiar outline of Wound’s signature body should spark wicked curiosity in him, and it does, but there’s a catch to this particular creature. Wound, of all the mares in Tephra, unnerves the blue warg the most.

    It’s not because of her deformity, “Quite the opposite, actually.” He tells her as the silver bay woman regains her comfort. It’s more so because his eyes can’t stop from noticing the glint in her own, or the way her smile draws all attention to the pleasing angles of her face. It’s in the way he swallows hard when, at last, the obvious jut of her distended belly gives inspiration to thoughts like, “I wonder if she enjoyed it.”

    (Down, boy.) “You’re twice as determined as any warrior I’ve ever met. Tephra’s lucky to have you.” He chuckles, breaking decorum and the personal rule he’d set five seconds ago not to touch her by extending his smirking lips in a light attempt at brushing her cheek. He checks himself enough to give her time to deflect and considers himself a very controlled animal for it. “You sure I can’t convince you to join the Guard?” Warrick’s Commander jokes, both slender ears darting forward to give his features an air of shrewd playfulness.

    It came back so quickly - this ‘stumbling into old habits’ routine.

    After a moment of respite his clear, emerald eyes cut loose from her face to land on the hidden secret she carried with her. There are a plethora of budding questions he can ask regarding her condition but, for some reason, only one sticks out. “You weren’t hurt, were you?” He wonders aloud. There’s something to be said about keeping one’s nose out of private matters, but the thought of some loose scum taking advantage of Wound takes precedence over things like propriety.

    Besides, she always has the freedom to tell him exactly where to shove questions like the one he leaves hanging between them.



    @[wound] sorry for the wait <3
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #3
    Her world is painted in the colors of uncertainty. She has experienced flashes of confidence (swaddled in the embraces of her brothers, winding between Tephra’s lava streams, wading through the salty waves under a canvas of constellations) but Wound cannot deny her future is shaded in hues she does not yet comprehend. Her pregnancy is a frequent flyer in the concoctions of her thoughts — both of her child and its sire.

    But someone who unnerves her daily is Longclaw. The way his blue hide drags along the sinewy length of his muscle, the clench of his jawline, the deep green of his blazing eyes; there isn’t a moment when Wound isn’t completely thrown off balance by the iridescent commander. She must remind herself (even now, with her sides swollen and his delicious lips curling into a smoky smile) that he belongs to Femur.

    Oh, dear little Wound, so set in her ill-perceived ways.

    Her cheeks flame with a blush at his compliment. Wound is used to derogatory insults tossed her way among the neutral clearings of Beqanna. Her thoughts twist dramatically from her shyness as his mouth gently brushes along one high cheek. She’s so taken aback that her mind is stunned for a moment, lost in the thunderstorm of his manly scent and the electric heat that tingles against her face from where his lips had been a moment before.

    Her laugh comes out nervous. Wound’s coffee eyes dart to meet his forested ones, a soft sigh expelling from her lungs in an attempt to gather herself. “I doubt I’d be able to chase anyone down.” Her voice is firmer than her laughter moments before, although the path his eyes follow send her careening into another dimension of fluster once more.

    “I — oh, um — ah,” (damnit, Wound, pull yourself together) “No, no, no.” A memory, flashing behind the plethora of reserved chagrin in her eyes. Navy and bay, the stars glowing overhead like a million dreams tossed in the sky, the waves licking at her heels, the quiet moans of selfish pleasure. Wound shakes her head roughly, mane rolling over her crest and across her shoulders to clear her mind from her devilish thoughts. “I wasn’t hurt; thank you for asking.”

    She feels the weight of his unannounced question, but it will remain unanswered. At least for now. Wound cannot put more burdens on her mind, and certainly telling Longclaw of her child’s sire before telling the man himself would give her thoughts more cargo. Wound attempts to divert the conversation back to Longclaw instead, shaking the timidity out of her hair. “How are you and Femur?”

    She must mention the fanged mare after all, before her lust takes a turn toward a deeper road she often only visits at night.

    @[Longclaw] sooo sorry this took so long to get back to you! I've been swamped with homework D:
    #4

    LongClaw

    -I close my eyes, Ignore the smoke-

    Is it her gentle sigh? The way her eyes shadow with - was that embarrassment? Claw can’t decide; he likes every warring emotion that flits across her face better than the last. “I wasn’t hurt;” She confirms, her follow-up of “thank you for asking” answered only by the deft bob of his dark blue head. Shamelessly, he regrets that she’ll give him no reason to tear apart an offending enemy; it would be nice for the world to know that they couldn’t take advantage of his charges, his -

    But he stops himself, or rather Wound stops him from this train of thought with her question about Femur. Longclaw blinks. (Wound is not yours to protect, not yours, not yours) “We’re expecting our first non-adopted rugrat soon.” He laughs warmly in afterthought, the rotund vision of his golden madonna always in the forefront of his thoughts. “She makes a fierce lover, my other herdmares stay far from her sight.” The warg chuckles throatily, unaware and unconcerned if Wound was familiar with his familial workings or not.

    He’s never harbored shame for his actions, and neither do any of his girls. This, he assumes, equates success. “She’ll make the perfect mother, but we already knew that, didn’t we?” The commander jokes, delivering the jaunt in a conspiratorial manner. It was commonplace to see his mate weaving through Tephra’s fields and forest, their ducklings somewhat in tow.

    But now he shifts; twists his legs over themselves to turn his body so that he and Wound might stand parallel to one another on the shore. “I have no doubt you’ll be equally as charming in the role of motherhood, is this your first?” He wonders aloud, truly curious for the answer. A moment passes and then he follows with, “Should we rest somewhere? I’ve got time - you caught me at the end of rounds.”

    He struggles not to sound too hopeful.



    @[wound] worth the wait xD
    [Image: sScEgld.png]
    #5
    W
    ound isn’t surprised to hear that Femur is also spending the winter with a child slowly growing in her womb. She can remember the first time she stepped foot on Tephra’s shores, when Longclaw spilled out from between fronds to greet his mate and her follower. Although the doe-eyed looks they gave each other prodded at Wound’s lonely little heart, their adoration for one another was infectious. It was only a matter of time before their bundle of adopted (or stolen, but does Wound know that?) children was expanded to include ones borne from flesh and blood as well.

    A gentle, pleased smile curls across Wound’s lips as she imagines her friend winding among Tephra’s lava-streams and rocky foothills with sides as swollen as her own. Femur has always been a firecracker and Wound doesn’t suppose she would stop being one with the hormones of pregnancy drowning her. “You must be very excited.” Her coffee eyes move to meet with his own green ones, curious to know how Longclaw must feel about their growing family.

    Her gaze darts away when Longclaw mentions his other belles; she hadn’t realized he spent some nights with other women. It sends a tingle down her spine — one which Wound can’t quite identify as prospect, embarrassment, or desire. She recovers by nodding along in response to his statement about Femur as a mother. “I’m sure your child will be loved dearly.” Wound herself is already quite excited to pull her own child close into her chest at night and sing her songs of the ocean’s pull and the stars’ affections and the volcano’s protection.

    She is distracted for a moment, lost in the future, until Longclaw shifts to move parallel to her swelling sides. Wound turns to look at the side profile of the commander — the shape of his handsome face, the curve of his throat, the slope of his nose, the deep green of his eyes. If his progeny look anything like their father, they will be attractive children. “Yes, my first.” Her comment is somewhat dazed, but she clears her throat and straightens to face the sea and shore.

    Just as Longclaw suggests moving elsewhere to rest, Wound feels a deep rustle in her womb before a sharp kick pushes against the interior of her body. A low, pained huff blows out of the mare’s throat at the sensation. The movement is so sudden it sends the silver bay’s petite frame against Longclaw’s strong one. “Oh!” Wound struggles to realign her balance, but the effort has become more difficult than in the past with the added weight.

    “I am so sorry, the baby just kicked me a little too hard.” There’s a sweet laugh on her lips despite the tender ache in her abdomen now. She truly does shine in her pregnancy, with the salty ocean breeze tossing her ombre locks playfully and the warm glow of contentment in her coffee eyes and the swell of her sides almost accentuating the curve of her petite frame. “Rest sounds like a lovely idea, Longclaw. Please, lead the way.”
    credit to nat of adoxography.

    @[Longclaw]




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