the study of death; any - Kersey - 09-01-2015
I don't remember being born.
I do remember the moments after, the struggle to walk and the smell of milk. I stopped before suckling, my purple-gray eyes studying with interest the teat in front of me. There was a perverse curiosity in waiting to see how long my stomach could wait.
Not long, but I am young.
I drank deeply until I was sated, and then nipped at my mother sharply with a defiant squeal. Already I am impatient of my childhood.
I don't wander far from Killgore. This is more self preservation than anything else, because I long to find out what all the things I am smelling and seeing are. How they work, what they look like when smashed, how to take them apart.
I glance at my mother, and then at myself. We are framed similarly, but I am a dark bay with purple climbing up my legs and nose. I shake my head, and turn quickly, trying to catch a glimpse to ascertain the color of my tragically short and fluffy tail. Like a bunny, I snort derisively. The effort makes me lose my balance and I crumple to the side. Purple. I am purple on my mane and tail.
I don't jump up right away. Instead, I rub my face into the dirt to see if I can change the color of purple on my nose. A small chirp comes feebly from beneath a nearby tree, and it is this that pulls me to my feet.
A small thing with wings is flapping feebly beneath the branches. I look up. A bigger winged thing and her other little wings are chirruping madly. What makes them do that, I wonder. I glance down at the squalling thing with feathers. Slowly, judging its reaction, I put my hoof on the baby bird's back, between his wings. A loud crunch, a screech and silence.
I wonder, what made it do that? Would every small thing with wings make the crunch-screech sound? I glance up at the others birds, cocking my head. I nicker.
Come down, feathered ones. I only want to understand.
K E R S E Y the academic executioner
RE: the study of death; any - Killgore - 09-07-2015
She hadn’t even taken into consideration the possibility of having a female child. She had mused long and hard to decide if she was pleased about this or not. Not that it mattered really, not now anyways. Khaos was gone, gone in all sense of the word. A statue of the iron beast remained atop the cliffs, burning against the seaside sun. But that was it, all that remained of his physical self.
No, it really made no difference now what sex her children were. The girl wasn’t even the product of Khaos, she was something a bit more. Killgore had not seen the child’s Father fall into the atmosphere, but Kirin had. He had also demanded she visit the galaxy colored male, mate with him, and produce his child. Anything for her dear Kirin. She didn’t regret her willingness to please him, the girl had emerged with gorgeous purple points, and Killgore decided to call her Kersey.
She girl was eager too, eager to learn, eager to do. The bay watched her mostly, fed her, but otherwise she observed. She was waiting. Waiting to see how this one had turned out, to make a final decision on just how much she liked the filly. The child’s teeth find her or dare to find her, neither were tolerated and Killgore snapped back to pinch the babes ear. Throwing a stern glare through her dark eyes, before Kersey strolled off. Off towards a nest of Terns, chittering loudly and annoyingly she would add. One little chick was piping from the ground, flailing awkwardly as it could not fly. Kersey disposed of it quickly, smashing the idiotic creature and Killgore made her way over.
She blinked at the smashed remains, her lip curling up but she stroked her muzzle through the girl’s soft mane before speaking. ”I have good news my sweet. I’m going to let you live.” She smiled a small smile, like this was a common conversation to have.
Mother of Silver Cove
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