05-19-2019, 09:21 PM
SO GIVE ME HOPE IN THE DARKNESS THAT I WILL SEE THE LIGHT
'CAUSE OH THAT GAVE ME SUCH A FRIGHT
'CAUSE OH THAT GAVE ME SUCH A FRIGHT
Of all his children, Brennen has attended probably about a third of their births. As a general rule, he doesn’t want to intrude where he is not welcome; all of his children were welcomed by him, wanted by him, but when the mothers were little more than casual acquaintances, he tended to give them space in this most intimate of times. But everyone changes, and magic had changed Brennen in many ways – not the least of which was how easy it is to keep track of his brood now, even the unborn.
Galilee would probably foal late – she often did, perhaps a habit developed when Brennen had lived in the Tundra and having early foals had been hard on everyone. Still, his heart jumps when something tweaks in his magic web, but it’s not the spotted mare who had been his mate for the longest time (he carefully doesn’t think of Scorch now, because that is a wound still raw) but the one he’d met that one night in the pouring rain, the little water-creature who’d been exhausted and in need of his assistance. He’s there in an instant, a thought, but the bay magician hesitates when he realizes where ‘here’ is; he’d left Ischia and pretty much known he couldn’t come back. Not because anyone could stop him from doing so, because most of them couldn’t, but because he’d given a piece of his heart to these islands and to leave them for Nerine was like shutting that part of himself away in some dark hole.
But the twins in Adria’s womb are stirring more and more and so he presses forward, hanging back only from entering the actual pool with her – that would be far too familiar for almost-strangers. He holds his breath when the boy emerges first, marveling at the colt’s bright colors the shape of his tail; enraptured even as he holds his breath until the boy starts moving around in the water, breathing easily. The filly isn’t finned or scaled and he can barely hold himself back from leaping forward to pull her from the crystalline waters, but their mother has it handled, dragging the foal to safety in the shallows. “They’re beautiful,” he turns amber eyes on her, checking her for injury in one long glance, but she seems fine. Exhausted, but fine.
The filly is safe on the bank and he reaches down to inhale her unique scent, ruffling her damp mane with his breath, but the boy is still submerged, just the impression of bright eyes in the deeper water, watching them. “Come out of there, young man,” he says firmly, ready to pull him onto the bank for a closer look by magic if he has to, but after a heartbeat’s hesitation the colt acquiesces, trading tail for legs as he scrambles onto the bank. Even now, minutes old, he feels half-feral to Brennen. The stallion turns a wry smile to the mare, “I think we have our work cut out for us with this one.” Still, he lips at the boy’s mane the same as he did with his daughter, pride filling him. “Did you have names in mind?”
Galilee would probably foal late – she often did, perhaps a habit developed when Brennen had lived in the Tundra and having early foals had been hard on everyone. Still, his heart jumps when something tweaks in his magic web, but it’s not the spotted mare who had been his mate for the longest time (he carefully doesn’t think of Scorch now, because that is a wound still raw) but the one he’d met that one night in the pouring rain, the little water-creature who’d been exhausted and in need of his assistance. He’s there in an instant, a thought, but the bay magician hesitates when he realizes where ‘here’ is; he’d left Ischia and pretty much known he couldn’t come back. Not because anyone could stop him from doing so, because most of them couldn’t, but because he’d given a piece of his heart to these islands and to leave them for Nerine was like shutting that part of himself away in some dark hole.
But the twins in Adria’s womb are stirring more and more and so he presses forward, hanging back only from entering the actual pool with her – that would be far too familiar for almost-strangers. He holds his breath when the boy emerges first, marveling at the colt’s bright colors the shape of his tail; enraptured even as he holds his breath until the boy starts moving around in the water, breathing easily. The filly isn’t finned or scaled and he can barely hold himself back from leaping forward to pull her from the crystalline waters, but their mother has it handled, dragging the foal to safety in the shallows. “They’re beautiful,” he turns amber eyes on her, checking her for injury in one long glance, but she seems fine. Exhausted, but fine.
The filly is safe on the bank and he reaches down to inhale her unique scent, ruffling her damp mane with his breath, but the boy is still submerged, just the impression of bright eyes in the deeper water, watching them. “Come out of there, young man,” he says firmly, ready to pull him onto the bank for a closer look by magic if he has to, but after a heartbeat’s hesitation the colt acquiesces, trading tail for legs as he scrambles onto the bank. Even now, minutes old, he feels half-feral to Brennen. The stallion turns a wry smile to the mare, “I think we have our work cut out for us with this one.” Still, he lips at the boy’s mane the same as he did with his daughter, pride filling him. “Did you have names in mind?”
BUT I WILL HOLD AS LONG AS YOU LIKE
JUST PROMISE ME WE'LL BE ALRIGHT
JUST PROMISE ME WE'LL BE ALRIGHT
Brennen
@[Adria]