"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
05-26-2021, 08:16 PM (This post was last modified: 05-26-2021, 08:21 PM by Shadowmere.)
you've sung discord in your final hour
Exhaustion.
Beads of sweat began to drip from furrowed brows.
Her swollen dappled belly swayed with each stride.
The spindly woman grunted, pushing her heavy body through the wood, unsure if she could make it back to the cove. It was only a short walk through the bottom most corner of Hyaline from the Forest to the Cove, but on a day like today...it wasn't likely she could.
Huff..
Puff…
Of course this had to be the day her brat would decide to make it's grand entrance into this god forsaken world.
But.
It felt all sorts of wrong.
The afternoon was hot and humid, the first truly hot day of late spring.
Mixed with the weight and pain, the dark mother could go no further.
Knobby obsidian knees shook violently before they buckled.
Her heavy body tottering a few moments before she fell to the forest floor.
So close. She was so close. The border to Hyaline was so close.
Pain.
So much damned pain.
Screwing up her scarred face in pure anguish, never before had a pregnancy been like this for her.
Push….PUSH.
The first came quickly, a small buckskin filly.
The crone lifted her head and let out a deep thrum of a nicker and licked her until another horrid pain wracked her body.
A shrill cry escaped her gritted teeth as she realized she was far from done.
The second failed to come, struggling, she attempted to shift herself, but her strength was ebbing away.
Not soon enough the second form arrived next to the filly, a mousy brown colt. Soft blue accented his small body. Before she could finish greeting him, her vision began to swim, exhaustion hitting her hard now.
Everything was falling away..
---
Golden light cast down upon the small wet form of the silver bay colt.
Large glossy eyes fluttered as they tried to adjust to the brightness of this grand new world.
Feeling something move beside him, he shakily bobbled his head toward it.
Dark eyes fell upon his sister, he squeaked at her happily before turning to find the warm touch of his mother.
Instead he found her a mass of soaked black hair, shuddering with each staggered gasp.
Panic rose in his small chest, eyes shining in alarm as he began to frantically bleat out broken words. ”Ma! Ma!! Help Ma! Ma!!”
He continued to bleat helplessly, now struggling to find strength to stand upon wobbling stilts.
After a few times throwing himself to the ground, he managed to find his feet.
He pranced clumsily around his mother and sister, stopping every so often to stand by his sister and press his tiny velvet muzzle to hers.
A comforting touch.
Shadowmere gasped, her voice barely a raspy whisper. "H..Have...lock….take c..c..care of...Fall…", she sputtered and coughed, black eyes now glazed. "....Falljoy..", as his sister’s name left her lips, she began to drift away.
He let out a shrill cry, his heart feeling as if it were in the tight grip of icy claws. MA!, he cried.
Without their mother, how would they ever survive?
It was not often that he left the sprawling wildflowers of his home these days. He had no reason to now that the flowers had bloomed back to life, now that Aela and Wherewolf made the Pampas a little less empty, now that he was Fae. However even he needs a change of pace from time to time and so he finds himself walking the dark wooded paths of the Forest.
He had always thought that becoming immortal and gaining abilities would help fix some of the emptiness inside of him, would make up for the years of hard struggle and pain that had worn away at his fragile soul. The mouth of this hungry hole seems to have only widened its cavernous maw and he can’t wrap his head around why. He refuses to acknowledge the way he locks his heart away in the cold confines of his hardened chest, pressing only further into the steel plates of his callousness that shields him from the things that could truly hurt him now.
Something dark and twisted still writhes deep within him, something that slithers and hisses when he feels the flare of his anger rise, when the heat of hatred warms his stone heart and breathes it back to life. He ignores it, pushes the tingling sense of worry back into the darkest recesses of his mind where such things like images of Cheri lay wrapped and hidden. He would rather think of the copious amounts of nectar waiting for him at home as well as Aela’s coy smile and the taste of her sunlit skin. Before these torturous thoughts can divert him back the way he came, a little ball of glowing light suddenly manifests in front of him and the gold and black stallion gives a small smile in greeting. ”My Prince.” The Will o’ the Wisp greets in a soft whisper that only he can hear. “My Light.” He murmurs back softly with more warmth then he’s ever shown anyone of flesh and blood. “My Prince, I think you may be needed.” It whispers in it’s soft watery way before it begins to dart through the trees.
A shrill cry breaks through the dense foliage and it’s enough to instantly make him on edge. His long pointed ears swivel forward as bright red iris’s narrow in suspicion but he follows his companions trail, keeping his gaze trained on the small ball of light that shines through the dimness. Sometimes Light could put his own pranks to shame and so he follows cautiously, waiting to see what trick his little friend might be pulling. A cry of help rises from a thicket and he slows his pace even more. Uncertain. “What trick is this Light?” He asks grumpily, almost refusing to take the extra step to where the glowing ghostly orb hovers. But he does.
He does not expect the Will o’ the Wisp to lead him to a sweat soaked mare gasping for breath, two foals curled beside her. The children were wide eyed and frightened, their fear so palpable he can taste it. It’s clear that the mare is not much longer for this world as he moves closer with the grace that befits a Fae immortal. Shadows of death caress her features and he cannot help but cock his head slightly as he towers over her, stares down at the traces of mortality that he had once feared. A raised brow is thrown towards Light, why had he been brought here? To remember what it had been like to be mortal and afraid? To steal these children and make them Changelings to the Pampas?
An image is passed from Light to him, a memory of how his own flesh had healed when he had touched it. A snort falls from flared nostrils, why would he help this mortal? She was beneath him and meant nothing to him. Even if he could heal like that, why would he? It’s the glance towards the foals that softens some of his hard edges, just for a moment. Remembering what it was like to grow up young and alone, how hard it was to survive after being abandoned. “Fine!” He growls with a scowl, looking accusingly at the Wisp before lowering his muzzle to the dying horse. The scent of death is stronger now and he wrinkles his nose in disgust as he finally presses his touch to her forehead. Closing his eyes, a sudden pulse of power that he finds waiting for him in the darkness. He embraces the feeling, lets it wrap around him as foggy gold tendrils extend from him and feed into her.
Being born was rough business. She had been warm before, tightly wrapped beside her twin. Their hearts beat a tandem rhythm that played in double time compared to the slow and steady pulse they were shrouded by; 1-2-3-4 THUMP, 1-2-3-4 THUD.
That was all their world was, a dreamscape that stretched on and on. Until it didn't. Until it hurt, and hurt more, and her lungs stuttered on their first breaths and she blinked blearily into a tapestry sky. A shiver ran the length of her, and for the first time in her brief life, she was cold.
A mutter of complaint bubbled from her chest. Her first sound! It was met by a deeper, louder sound. Mother? Her velveteen nose turned to meet the dark one that landed on her face. She went from wet and sticky to wet and (mostly) clean, before another sound rattled her fresh ears. Mother again? But that seemed wrong.
A tiny experimental whicker fluted from her throat, confusion playing on her soft features. Where was Mother? Spindly thin legs struck out at the leaves. Blood and birth made the surface hard to grip, and it took a moment for her to swing upright. To hold that position long enough to see Mother's shuddering form, and Brother slick on the ground beside her.
She knew very little, almost nothing, really. But the sky was bright enough to make her golden eyes water, and Brother knew her as she knew him. That made her happy. The ground was wet and Mother had not risen again to clean him as she had her, and that seemed... wrong.
The newborn wobbled, and took a step, then realized she didn't know where she was going. Back to Brother, then. Maybe to curl up again as they had so recently done, and sleep off this odd dream. Maybe to wake up again embraced and warm and dark.
She hardly noticed the new one when he came. It was the ball of light that drew her attention, bright and cheerful. Exaggerated baby steps brought her within reach of the thing, unaware of the life hanging in the balance behind her, within her. For if there was no Mother, would there be any her?
