"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
in the morning when I wake and the sun is coming through, oh you fill my lungs with sweetness and my head is filled with you
As spring finally comes, her anxiety and worry grows. She doesn’t speak of it to anyone but starts to spend a bit more time alone in the woods, away from the others. She feels flustered since Ramiel had stared at her stomach, she could sense that perhaps he wasn’t pleased about her pregnancy but wasn’t sure why. She also wasn’t sure why she felt so ashamed by the way he felt. It wasn’t as if she was in love with Atrox or that she could really even recall how it came about. However, despite the anxiety and fear, she was excited for her child. She just wasn’t sure what to expect. There was no mother for her to turn too in her time of need with all the unanswered questions she had. There was no memory to recall on how she was raised. She was completely on her own with this.
When the contractions start, they frighten her and she groans softly as she slides down against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Her legs fold beneath her and sweat breaks out on her snowy coat. Blue eyes are wide and filled with panic but she breathes deep, trying her best to be calm. This is what’s suppose to happen, she thinks. Closing her eyes, she does her best to let instinct take over and trust wholeheartedly in that. Labor is quicker than she thought, in no time at all she is pushing the foal from her body. It slips easily into the world and then suddenly she feels empty. Arching her neck as she turns to look behind her, a tumultuous ocean storming in the blue of her iris’s as she worries about the child. Was it alive? Was it all in one piece?
Shakily standing and feeling out of sorts, almost in a daze as the world is hazy around her, she licks the child clean and finally starts to smile. Relieved, the foal seems to be perfectly fine. It whiskers softly to her as it looks up to her with silver eyes, it’s smokey black coat glistening where the sun peeks out from the trees. Most of all she is excited to see that she has given birth to a little girl. And a determined one at that, already trying to find it’s hooves and stand beside her. When she finally manages to stand on quivering limbs and suckle, such an odd sensation, the white mare is filled with overpowering warmth and she nuzzles the little girl affectionately. ”Ciri.” She whispers softly to her. ”My little Ciri.”
10-04-2015, 06:44 PM (This post was last modified: 10-05-2015, 05:40 PM by Weir.)
As much as it pained him to do so, he could not look away. He watched her struggle from a tree not far off, leaning against the bark as he observed. He could not go to her, he did not feel he knew her that well. He watched more in an academic sense, perhaps a pinch of longing, and of course to make sure the dear was all right.
He had not much interaction with Soleil but it did not change the fact that she was now part of their small family, another piece to be tied in their knitted knots. Several times he lurches as if to move forward, to walk to her, but he does not. He steels himself and grows roots to this spot, she would be okay, she could handle this. He had to replAy kind words of wisdom from Elysteria in his mind over and over. Mare's were built to do this, he knew that, he knew the text book ins and outs of child birth, but he had not witnessed it. He could not speak from any kind of personal experience or witness to the act, and so he kept his manners, only watching. Maybe watching was intrusive as well, he didn't know. He did know though that there was no father present, never had he spotted the light mare have a visitor, and she remembered little of life. How sad.
Finally when all has passed and the foal picks itself up does he slowly make his way over. A cautious approach, a bit unsure of himself and his business at being there. "Can i get you anything?" He asks because he does not know what else to say.
WEIR
I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly
She knows the white mare is her mother just as she knows that this world is new and she is new. She is fresh. She knows her name. A simple smooth movement off the tongue. Ciri. She knows that where she was before is different from where she is now. She is of time and space, created by a simple malfunction in the atmosphere when two strangers stumbled into each other. Now she is here, now she is one with this world. Grounded and fragile. Not forever, not always. When she grows she will become something greater than she is now. Already her silver eyes take in the world with a look of one that’s walked these lands before. She hasn’t and she has. They will say she’s an old soul and she will smile and simply nod while thinking “No, I am new. I just know what is to come.”
For now she is just a child, a newborn who has slipped into the chilly spring air. Existing. A hungry child that presses into her mother’s flank once she has mastered standing on her fragile spindly legs. A voice, strange and deep, distracts her and she looks at the man. He tries to hide his grief but he fails. The silvery strands that swirl in the depths of her eyes brighten as she looks at him. Something she doesn’t know, something she can discover. ”Father?” She asks curiously for she knows that the white mare is hers and that somewhere there’s another that she is connected to. Time and space.
It is surreal his life now, the course it has taken, the ways it has changed with the bends. Like water, a river, it always found its way, made the path its own. Overcame obstacles. Still, it didn't baffle him just how very often he seemed flabbergasted. Utterly.
Weir loved children, he found them fascinating, interesting above most all things. (Perhaps not more than turtles, but they were very high on the list all the same) Still though, he is surely caught off guard by the child, this young girl with strange silver eyes. Peculiar they were, as if they strained to speak of things that the young just could not know. Strange but interesting, for a moment he is caught in their swirling gaze. The moment is lost quick enough when she speaks, a question he is most unprepared to answer.
Father? her curiosity is brimming with that. His heart promptly jumps to his throat and he struggles inwardly to push it back in place. He stutters, falling over his words which was becoming normally un-normal for the roan. The favored tried and true saying of his still rang with importance- it just sometimes led him into awkward situations. Like the one that was now laid out before him, a child and a woman he barely knew. "I-I-I well, I don't think that..I wouldn't say....not sure Father is an appropriate term." He faltered trying to be tactful, yet not crush the girl, to perhaps leave it open for interpretation. "I think Weir is best, yes, I am Weir." There that was true, to the point as much as he could manage, and still a practical answer.
To the child's mother he offers an apologetic look, "Do forgive me, I don't mean to intrude." There he was just barging in on a very personal time, on top of that he had the kid asking after him as Father. What a mess.
WEIR
I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly
in the morning when I wake and the sun is coming through,
