11-16-2020, 01:36 AM
so make your siren's call and sing all you want, I will not hear what you have to say --
He did not think it was possible for Sabbath to get more fearsome but he was, of course, completely wrong.
Sabbath that was close to delivering was almost an entirely different breed of terrifying, and yet all it did was fuel the guilt that chewed away inside of him. She was irritable in a way that made him wish he could help her, that he could offer her any kind of relief, but he also knew that he was the last creature she wanted to see right now.
And so he gave her space, again, though he was sure it was not nearly as much space as she would have liked. His worry overpowered his actual fear of her, and he could not risk drifting too far and not being there if something happened.
So he lingers outside of her den, fidgeting and restless. The humidity in Tephra suddenly feels overwhelming and choking, the thick air seeming to fight for room with the anxiety that has taken root inside of his chest. He can hear her, and he fights the urge to go to her side, knowing that would do nothing but cause her stress. So he waits, quieting the panic as time seems to drag on.
Eventually, he hears her voice, soft and murmuring in the way it only is when she speaks to her children. He should wait longer, he knows, but instead he lowers his head and steps inside.
He had not thought it was possible to ever replicate the feelings he had when he had first seen Crowns, but he is, once again, proven wrong.
There are two of them, small and trembling in this new air that they found shockingly cold. The girl, dark and purple and glowing, with a face that is already so impossibly beautiful, just like her mother. And then the boy, a rich mahogany bay with bright blue and gold, like him. Even from where he stands he can see they are both covered in his frost scales, and all the previous worry in his chest is replaced with pride.
His steps are slow and cautious, and his dark blue eyes look to Sabbath in a questioning way, as though he is asking for permission although he thinks he has, hopefully, proven to her that he loves their children just as much as she does. He lowers his head to touch the filly first, exhaling a warm breath across her neck, watching as the frost on the scales melts away only to reform moments later. A smile touches his lips, and then he runs his nose down the back of the colt, tilting his head curiously at the sight of the peculiar tail. It was decidedly snake-like, with a small, button-type end to it – the promise of rattles eventually to come.
“They're perfect,” he says to Sabbath as he reaches to touch his nose to the side of her neck, while deftly avoiding any snap that she might send in his direction. He has, in his opinion, become fairly good at the art of showing her affection and then dodging her retaliation, although the twins lying curled at their feet were proof she didn't always pretend to hate him. He looks back to the colt, who is now trying to organize his too long legs underneath him. It takes a few attempts, but eventually, he is standing mostly upright, wavering and unsteady though he was. Instinctively Varick uses his nose to steady him, and the colt flicks his rattlesnake tail in appreciation or irritation, he's not quite sure yet. “Do you like the name Riptide?” He asks her a little hesitantly, not entirely sure if she feels as though he has a right to name one of their children.
Sabbath that was close to delivering was almost an entirely different breed of terrifying, and yet all it did was fuel the guilt that chewed away inside of him. She was irritable in a way that made him wish he could help her, that he could offer her any kind of relief, but he also knew that he was the last creature she wanted to see right now.
And so he gave her space, again, though he was sure it was not nearly as much space as she would have liked. His worry overpowered his actual fear of her, and he could not risk drifting too far and not being there if something happened.
So he lingers outside of her den, fidgeting and restless. The humidity in Tephra suddenly feels overwhelming and choking, the thick air seeming to fight for room with the anxiety that has taken root inside of his chest. He can hear her, and he fights the urge to go to her side, knowing that would do nothing but cause her stress. So he waits, quieting the panic as time seems to drag on.
Eventually, he hears her voice, soft and murmuring in the way it only is when she speaks to her children. He should wait longer, he knows, but instead he lowers his head and steps inside.
He had not thought it was possible to ever replicate the feelings he had when he had first seen Crowns, but he is, once again, proven wrong.
There are two of them, small and trembling in this new air that they found shockingly cold. The girl, dark and purple and glowing, with a face that is already so impossibly beautiful, just like her mother. And then the boy, a rich mahogany bay with bright blue and gold, like him. Even from where he stands he can see they are both covered in his frost scales, and all the previous worry in his chest is replaced with pride.
His steps are slow and cautious, and his dark blue eyes look to Sabbath in a questioning way, as though he is asking for permission although he thinks he has, hopefully, proven to her that he loves their children just as much as she does. He lowers his head to touch the filly first, exhaling a warm breath across her neck, watching as the frost on the scales melts away only to reform moments later. A smile touches his lips, and then he runs his nose down the back of the colt, tilting his head curiously at the sight of the peculiar tail. It was decidedly snake-like, with a small, button-type end to it – the promise of rattles eventually to come.
“They're perfect,” he says to Sabbath as he reaches to touch his nose to the side of her neck, while deftly avoiding any snap that she might send in his direction. He has, in his opinion, become fairly good at the art of showing her affection and then dodging her retaliation, although the twins lying curled at their feet were proof she didn't always pretend to hate him. He looks back to the colt, who is now trying to organize his too long legs underneath him. It takes a few attempts, but eventually, he is standing mostly upright, wavering and unsteady though he was. Instinctively Varick uses his nose to steady him, and the colt flicks his rattlesnake tail in appreciation or irritation, he's not quite sure yet. “Do you like the name Riptide?” He asks her a little hesitantly, not entirely sure if she feels as though he has a right to name one of their children.
VARICK
@[Sabbath]