[private] of his bones are coral made

[Oceane]

O C E A N E

Hath in her veins,
to beat and run,
the glad indomitable sea,
the strong white sun.

Oceane hadn't intended to leave Loess at all once winter had succumbed to spring. She'd thought carefully and methodically about where she could give birth to her child ─ a son, Ilma had let slip ─ that would guarantee his safety, and it's for this reason that she recognized the depths of Loess as truly her only option. She has Lepis to thank for the tour that carried them into the midst of a private sandstone canyon that the opalescent woman had soon after chosen to reside within, allowing her belly to grow wide and her instincts to nest.

She also has Lepis to thank for the mention of Sochi. The Loessian consort. She who had birthed Castile's children and called him her husband. A woman who the Loessian King had never mentioned or named ─ one whose existence Oceane had never taken the time to inquire about, though the guilt that roils within her will not let this absolve her of any fault.

It's because of this that the lavender pegasi has departed from her canyon sanctum despite the pull she feels to be safe within its walls. She grows anxious as she continues further away from the center of her home and closer to the southeastern border without any indication of the woman she is searching for, but refuses to turn back until she finds her. It's been easy to take her brilliantly feathered wings for granted, and it's only now that Oceane murmurs her frustration beneath her breath that she cannot simply take to the great blue skies and search from above.

When finally she has meandered her way to the Forest, her joints stiff from the distance and the weight of her low-hanging belly, Oceane releases a gentle sigh and comes to rest beside a massive willow. The boughs sweep overhead, reminding her of the smaller version of the same topiary that lives within her Loessian den, and offer her the smallest semblance of comfort as she debates whether or not she should continue further in her search for Sochi.



@[sochi]
""

neamrel / thedayofshadow

[sochi]

SOCHI

She still doesn’t know exactly what causes her skin to set aflame each morning.

Doesn’t know anything other than this subconscious twinge—this biting feeling that something is wrong. Castile had dodged the question, looped around the topic until she had finally fled, too frustrated to try and grapple with it any longer. He had promised her his heart again and again. Told her to not give up on them. But he hadn’t admitted anything beyond that. Hadn’t told her anything was wrong.

But a woman knows.

She had known.

The knowing had driven her from Loess and into the common lands. Left her reckless and furious; left her hunting things she shouldn’t, finding fights she should avoid. She healed quickly but her body was still tired from it all. The scars that should have littered her bruised underneath the flesh instead and she felt the way her skin felt too thin, too weak—as though regenerated too many times, in too many places.

She curses it this morning when she wakes up, rolling to her feet as a tigress but rising as an equine. She feels the slashes and gore of her last fight and the exhaustion that simmers beneath the surface. It would be enough to distract her if she gave it the time of day, but instead she simply does what she alway does these days: she leaves. She flicks her tangled tail behind her and moves forward into her favorite hunting spot, the forest, although her belly is full and she has no heart for it today.

No heart for anything but wandering.

It is only when she catches the scent that she even pauses, her dark head angling, the light catching the impossible blue of her blaze. It was a familiar scent—one she had picked up in the tangles of Castile’s mane when it still meant nothing—and she doesn’t pause to track it. She moves quickly through the trees until she comes across the pegasus, her silver eyes flashing and her expression carefully neutral.

“Hello.”

she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed

[Oceane]

O C E A N E

Hath in her veins,
to beat and run,
the glad indomitable sea,
the strong white sun.

The time she spends beneath the sweeping branches of the willow is dedicated to memories from her past. Undeterred by her efforts to concentrate on the budding verdant boughs overhead or the thick copse of trees that surround her beyond the wall of the willow, the determined will of her retrospection continues to seep into her thoughts time and time again.

Eventually, begrudgingly, she succumbs to it.

Nau-Aib returns to her, and it is so ingrained in Oceane's memory that she can nearly smell the sand in the air and hear the sharp arithmantic commands that curled from the mouths of magik-capable arithmancers like foreign tongues. She can feel the King's leer as it collides with her, heavy and acidic with vehemence he had never cared nor tried to hide. She was a living reminder of her own mother's adulteration, but the King was so centered in the public eye that he could not be rid of her without controversy. He could still punish her for her mother's crimes, though, and that was an opportunity he did not let pass: her two newborn colts, two years apart, each ripped from her side before they had the taste of milk on their tongues, murdered within the hour.

What else could she have expected from a society that rid themselves of colts who did not possess blood from the royal line?

Hello.

The voice catches Oceane unaware, tugging her roughly from the memories that have twisted her face into a grimace and back to the Forest. And to the smoky black mare from where the greeting had come. Oceane's gilded eyes meet the mare's silvered ones and then, after registering the red gash that claws its way across the woman's chest, her gaze returns to her blue-blaze face.

"Sochi?" she asks tentatively before she holds her breath, wondering if it's good luck or bad that has helped the two women meet in these woods today.



@[sochi]
""

neamrel / thedayofshadow

[sochi]

SOCHI

Sochi still doesn’t know what she’s doing here—why she has followed this particular scent. Like so much of the past few weeks, past months, she feels as though she is trailing after smoke. It is infuriating to feel an instinctual knowing of something and not be able to give it form; to know that something is different but not be able to give it a name. She finds herself sucked into the undercurrent of an emotion wrapped tightly around both apathy and fury and the stone that sits in her chest grows heavier with each breath.

She has never been one to truly explore the depths of her emotions, but she is driven by them—primal in her reactive nature. So she doesn’t bother to hide the brief moment of surprise that flashes across her face when the mare responds with her own name, as though she had been expecting her coming.

For a second, and then two, Sochi says nothing. Her mercurial eyes sweep over the mare, studying the obvious swell of her belly and the brilliant wings that do little to hide it. She catches the distinct scent of Loess on the breeze and something else that causes her mind to twist on itself, settling on a thought.

“I’m not used to being recognized,” her voice is husky and deep, rolling evenly despite whatever turmoil thrashes in her chest. She hasn’t lived a life completely devoid of noteworthy actions, but she has never been one to thrust herself into the limelight. She had no political ambitions—not when she was more interested in the hunt and the fight and the taste of copper on her tongue. She had played her part in both releasing the plague at both stages and then ending it. She become friends, allies, and then more with the dragon of the south—standing by his side during both dissension and then relative peace.

She had fought her wars. Born her children.

Even begrudgingly took the title of consort—a name of lace and pearls that sat uneasily on her.

But she had never been one to be so easily recognized.

So there is distrust that floods her, evenly matching the sense of unease she already feels, the growing flood of emotion that seeks some kind of relief. “How would you know who I am, stranger?”

Her lips flicker into a smile, but there is little warmth in the curve of lip.

she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed

[Oceane]

O C E A N E

Hath in her veins,
to beat and run,
the glad indomitable sea,
the strong white sun.

There's a predatory ferocity that lies in the depths of Sochi's eyes that remains, simmering, even when a brief moment of surprise flashes over her blue-blaze face. But she waits, holding her tongue against the inside of her blunted teeth expectantly, and watches uneasily as the other woman's analytic, silver-flecked eyes venture beyond her shoulder and to the swell of her belly. Oceane wants nothing more than to hide the proof of her night with the Loessian King beneath the lush blanket of balefire feathers that sprout from her shoulders, but she is a week or two beyond popping and there is no hope for discretion today.

Sochi finally breaks the silence and Oceane smiles apologetically. It is met with one absent of warmth and kindness when the smoky black mare questions her (stranger, she says, and it reminds Oceane of how large this chasm is between them), and while Loess' Scholar understands this abrasiveness, she knows she is about to make it much worse, to inflict damage ─ and that, alone, draws hot acid into her belly. A sharp pang causes a quick intake of breath through gritted teeth, but Oceane otherwise ignores it and clears her throat before answering Sochi's question.

"Lepis," she says, dry-mouthed, and upon realizing that she's only given half an explanation, continues, "I asked Lepis what you looked like because I wan─ I needed to speak to you."

Pressure grows inside her ─ not painful at first, but noticeable nonetheless. She ignores it, brushing it off as a discomfort with conflict, and tries to find the right words to say. And, additionally, the right way to say them. "My name is Oceane," she starts, and does not insult Sochi by telling her where she lives or how long she has been there; the scents of Loess cling to her much in the same way sweat clings after a long run, "And I needed you to know that the─"

The pressure gives way to pain, making Oceane's long legs quiver and nearly forcing her to her knees. Wide-eyed, she swings her head around and nips instinctively at her swollen belly, and in that moment she realizes. All of her time spent finding a safe place to give birth inside of Loess had been for naught. All of her intent to remain within her foothills home until she'd brought her son into the world... it didn't matter now.

And, what is worse, are Ilma's prophetic words that resound in Oceane's memory as another wave of pain courses through her body:

Careful. They won’t want to see him. His existence will upset her.

She thinks immediately of her sons from Nau-Aib, the ones taken from her just as soon as she'd birthed them, and her body is suddenly awash in cold panic as her pained amber eyes meet Sochi's silvered ones. Her front legs give out and the winged woman falls to her knees in the dirt beneath the willow and prepares herself to give birth to the son of Castile, and all the while her panicked brain cannot help but think about how she will die here protecting him if she needs to.

She will not lose another son.



@[sochi]
""

neamrel / thedayofshadow

[sochi]

SOCHI

There’s a knowing now.

Sochi has never been a scholar of any kind, but she’s sharp enough to piece together the puzzle that is before her. The pieces of scent on Castile, on Oceane—the mare’s anxious approach, the swell of her belly. The way Castile had consistently danced around a subject as though ignoring it would make it go away. In that instance, the fury bleeds from her and turns into a solid stone of understanding.

Of, in her own way, accepting.

Perhaps she was never meant to be owned anyway.

“Stop,” she cuts the mare off, shaking her head, silver eyes impassive. “I don’t care to hear the details.” She felt foolish enough for having cared—foolish enough for letting herself get led down this path. She had no desire for this kind of life and yet she had found herself trapped in it. Had been content to be tamed by the dragon because there was so much of him that reflected so much of her.

In the end, he was a predator—and she is not surprised that he acted in such a way.

But that doesn’t mean she takes pleasure in hearing the details of it relayed back to her.

She feels strangely empty as the other woman stumbles to find the words, her face apathetic and her lips pressed together—and when Oceane begins to twitch, quivering and nipping at her stomach, Sochi takes a step back. She has been a mother twice over and she knows the signs. Knows what is to come.

She doesn’t startle when Oceane hits the knees and glances up at her in terror.

Sochi tilts her head slightly, cold in her passive observance before she takes another step back. “Well, I suppose I should take my leave.” She doesn’t say the mare’s name—doesn’t extend any kind of friendship toward the blue mare but neither does she force any hostility. Instead she turns to leave.

“Good luck with,” she pauses, sweeping a silver gaze over the woman, “all of this.”

And then she shifts and pads quietly back into the shadows.

she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed

@[Oceane]

[Oceane]

O C E A N E

Hath in her veins,
to beat and run,
the glad indomitable sea,
the strong white sun.

Stop, Sochi demands, and Oceane is more than happy to oblige. The words, jumbled as they fall from her mouth, abruptly crawl their way back down her larynx. In a way, she's relieved that the smoky black woman doesn't want her to speak aloud the indiscretion ─ but then, too, she wonders if Sochi needs to hear it aloud for it to be true.

The inert steel of the blue-blaze woman's eyes say otherwise, and where Oceane would usually want to offer some sort of small offering or a word of solace, she doesn't ─ and can't. Instead, she succumbs to the pain of her contractions and when her knees are pressed into the hard dirt, her bright amber eyes meet Sochi's gaze but only briefly; the woman shifts, becomes a tigress, and disappears with a dismissive tilt of her head. Oceane finally releases her bated breath after she is gone, flooded with relief that she will not have to fend for the life of her child just as soon as he is born.

She thinks only of Alcinder as she accedes to childbirth. She does not think of her lost sons, of Nau-Aib, of Castile, of Sochi. She does not think of how she had chosen a perfect hiding place inside of Loess' canyon to give birth, and she does not think of the unsettling warning that Ilma's precognition had graced her with.

When finally the boy is born, all legs and wings and splashes of blue and white, Oceane is spent. She is slick with sweat and her muscles protest her attempts to stand, but she does ─ and for the first time, despite being a mother of three, she experiences how it feels for her son to stand on wobbly legs and feed from her swollen teat for the first time. And she cries.



@[sochi]
(Just to tie up the thread! Also tagging @[Castile] in case he randomly wants to show up later on or whateva, but no pressure!)
""

neamrel / thedayofshadow