07-05-2016, 01:10 PM
How many years I know I'll bear
I found something in the woods somewhere
I found something in the woods somewhere
It is too dramatic to say that her first pregnancy nearly killed her.
Roan thinks of that now, she has missed Isle over this long unending year of sickness that she has endured. Stronger now, she shuffles through the snow towards that same spot they stood upon so long ago. Her blind head swings to and fro as she looses a call towards the other mare, followed by a murmured name - “Isle.”
Roan is not that dramatic - never has been, never will be.
If she could survive her acidic twin’s attempts to kill her in the womb and the subsequent abortion (a horrible way to describe her premature existence but it is no less than the truth of the matter) of her tiny self into the snow, then she could survive the rigors of her daughter’s birth even as taxing as it had been. Roan knew it was a small pittance to pay for the arrival of another in this cruel cold realm they continuously eke an existence out of and she knew that she would pay it over and over again to have little Igni at her side.
The filly is older now and less reliant upon Roan who was a poor mother - she knows it, and even knows in that way that mothers know, that Igni is covets the bonds that Isle and Offspring have with their children. It is something that Roan must live with every day: the knowledge that she failed her firstborn in every way but it was unavoidable - the birth sapped the strength from her, left as weak as the babe that mewled at her side. Over time though, she has regained her strength and ventures forth more and more as each day passes.
She has never forgotten about Isle and how they first met, both equally alone and usually content with that until their mates seemed overdue in easing their loneliness. They had found company and comfort in one another as the winter grew thick and terrible around them, and Roan had pressed her already small, thin self deep into the pregnant thickness of Isle when the winter gales blew fierce around them, her fur insulation enough against the clime and feeling how thin Isle’s still was. What they had shared then was something that lay only between them, an easy beginning of a friendship between two quiet mares and the snowfall.
Roan thinks of that now, she has missed Isle over this long unending year of sickness that she has endured. Stronger now, she shuffles through the snow towards that same spot they stood upon so long ago. Her blind head swings to and fro as she looses a call towards the other mare, followed by a murmured name - “Isle.”
Roan