"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
At first she had been oblivious of her slowly rounding stomach, she hadn’t seen what Ivar had. But so does she not know about her own death. Kylin does remember their coupling in the sea, and how she’d asked him if they couldn’t stay just a little longer. Going from there, she remembers waking up at the beach. It would be a lie to say that wasn’t somewhat confusing, but Ivar had been right there, so Kylin does not doubt about what had happened.
Their trip to Sylva – one long, long overdue – had also left a stronger impression than waking up in a strange place.
When the first contractions surprise her, it does not take Kylin long to wander to one of the smaller caves on the western island. It is the same cave as in which Mother had birthed her and Kharon, and Kyveli too had been born there.
It is here, safely hidden from watching eyes, that the contractions force her down to the ground. Soon her flanks are damp, and her breath quick and heavy. It would be a lie to say this labour is any easier than the first, as the pain consumes her once again. What only takes minutes, feels like an eternity to Kylin, as her child is forced into the world little by little.
This time the lavender woman is quicker on her feet than last time. Exhausted as she is, her muzzle find the wet bundle of blue and white and lavender, freeing the newborn of the membrane that still partially covers it, as she slowly but surely cleans the damp body.
The world around her is bright - too bright. She blinks rapidly, concealing eyes a shade of hazel that matches her mother's almost perfectly. Inevitably piebald with two painted parents, the patches of sapphire blue are clearly her father's. The lavender tail and the mane that clings damply to her neck are as purple as those of the mare above her now. Kypria leans into the sensation of Kylin washing her clean, making small soft noises of pleasure.
This is much better than being trapped in the darkness.
But eventually her mother pulls away, leaving the tobiano filly alone on the cool sandy floor. She bleats, a loud sound rather like: "Maa!", and attempts to follow her. Of course, the newborn filly is still laying where she'd been born, and so rather than move closer to Kylin she instead topples over - face first - into the sand.
Spluttering, the filly huffs out an offended snort and then shakes her head rapidly. The motion unbalances her a second time, and now her entire damp left side is covered in sand. She makes it to her feet on the first genuine attempt. At her sides, glittering fins flap like wings, helping maintain what little balance she has. The filly falls twice before she masters walking, and she leans gratefully against her mother's hind legs as she begins to nurse.
When he surfaces, belly full of squid, Kylin is not where he had left her. She'sd been just there, one the shore, but as Ivar scans the now-empty beach, he catches the quickest flash of a lavender tail disapearing into the undergrowth. Such a sudden departure is not insignificant, especially this late in her pregnancy, and the kelpie heads for the shore without hesitation.
The piebald creature does not follow too closely, and he remains just outside the mouth of the cave. Had Kylin wanted him there, he is sure she'd have told him, and so he stands guard despite the noises that emerge. Land births seem so much worse than water, he thinks, though he had also been there to ease Isobell through the birthing with commands that he had not given to Heda and does not give now to Kylin.
Instead he waits, at least until he hears the lively bleat of a foal, and then he peeks round the edge of the cave.
There, lit by the dim sunlight and protected by the curve of her mother's side, is a small piebald filly. Ivar's curious brown eyes take her in, from the fluff of lavender mane to the little fins that flutter at her side while she nurses. "She's beautiful," Ivar says. He reaches out to run his scaled muzzle along Kylin's sweaty crest in a gentle caress. "Thank you."
Her motherly heart swells with love, unable to not react to her daughter’s pleasured noises. It is like a constant flutter in her stomach, and although exhausted, a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. Moving away from the blue filly goes right against her very nature, wanting to treasure and hold the girl close, but Kylin knows that this is something what she should do herself. Even if everything in her screams to help.
Encouragement turns into whispered praises, and the lavender woman cannot help it but to bend her neck, in favour of gently nuzzling the filly’s hindquarters. There where sapphire blue and white meet the lavender of her fluffy tail. Kylin’s hazel eyes are locked on the filly, but one of her lavender ears turns in his direction as soon as he enters the cave.
She only pulls away from the girl in favour of leaning into Ivar’s touch. Her tired eyes find him, unable to not smile as she nods. “She is very beautiful” she murmurs agreeing, sighing dreaming and both tiredly at the same time. Kylin is more than content to lean against the kelpie’s muscular chest, her lips land on his cheek before she turns to look at their daughter again. “What shall we name her?” she asks softly.
After all, it is their daughter, and she very much wants Ivar to be part of the girl’s life. Like he has been a part of Kyveli’s, unlike her oldest daughters biological father. “Ours.”
As he shifts his weight to lean against Kylin, the kelpie glances down at the foal again. She has finished nursing, and if the wide yawn and rapid blinking are good indicator, she'll be ready for sleep any moment. Ivar watches as the piebald girl folds her spindly legs gracelessly, collapsing into a colorful pile that soon begins to snore.
There is an absent sort of fondness in his expression when he looks back at Kylin, processing only now the question that she'd asked earlier. "A name?" He repeats. His sapphire brow wrinkles for a moment, but then he shrugs. "That's up you. I thought you might pick something with a K." Ivar can't claim to be familiar with the odd ways of the Covelings and their descendants. They have particular naming conventions and a penchant for incest - that's all the common gossip he has ever cared to know.
He moves to rest his neck across Kylin's for a moment, but he is cognizant that the recent ordeal has been even more tiring on the lavender mare than on the exhausted filly curled at their feet. Ivar had wanted to meet his daughter, but he doesn't mean to intrude on the time that Kylin will need to rest. He considers offering to stand guard as she sleeps, but recalls with a sharp clarity the reaction such concern had warranted from Isobell. Instead he traces the familiar pattern of color across her spine.
"What about Kypria?" He says suddenly, the cadence of the word appealing to him more than the meaning. "I like that, and there's a K."
Like Ivar’s, her gaze is focussed on the sapphire, white and lavender girl, watching her as she folds her legs and soon snores. Perhaps she shouldn’t, but Kylin cannot help herself as she reaches down to gently ruffle the girl’s crest, muttering a soft goodnight before pulling back.
It is easy to settle back against the sapphire piebald stallion. She laughs softly, but nods, to confirm she has indeed asked for his opinion. Her muzzle touches his wrinkle, or where it had just been, to tease him. She pulls back, and her hazel eyes search his, her dished head slightly tiling. “You’d be okay with that?” she asks, unable to hide the smile that curls the corners of her lips. And even though her exhaustion, Kylin’s eyes sparkle. “I’d like something starting with an I too.” It is not the Covelings tradition that she cares for – Kerberus had made sure for them to grow up far away from his father and other Covelings. But she does like it to use either of their names.
Her voice starts trailing of at the same time as Ivar traces her back. Her soft sigh escapes past her pale lips and for a moment her hazel eyes fall closed. It is his sudden voice that snaps her out of her dozing. Kylin has to blink her eyes a couple of times, but then smiles. “Kypria, I like that” she says softly, nodding.
Leaning towards him, her lips land a kiss on his cheek, before again reaching down to touch her little girl. Like with Kyveli, Kylin cannot get enough of touching her daughter, wanting to hold the girl as close as possible, because before you know it, they’re all grown up. “Welcome to the world, little Kypria.”
As her breaths begin to stretch, growing longer as she drifts to sleep, Ivar continues to mindlessly trace the slope of Kylin's back. The day is still young, but there is little else for the kelpie to do than stand guard over his sleeping child and her mother. He supposes that he might need to find Raul and Santana sometime before dusk to ensure they've not drowned, but that is not an especially pressing need.
When Kylin rouses, Ivar pulls back, aware that it is a combination of his touch and her exhaustion that has put her to sleep so easily. "Perhaps an I name for the next one," he replies, placing a teasing nip to the edge of her jaw. It is a gentle one, as gentle as the touch that he then places on the still damp back of their sleeping child.
"Do you think she'll like to swim?" He asks in the brief space of time before he suspects the lavender mare might doze off again. Lothbrook had been born swimming, but he doubts that Heda had let their child near the water. What will Kypria be like, he wonders? Is she a kelpie like he is, or are her fins the only aquatic attribute she possesses?
It is not just her exhaustion, and the gentle trace of the patterns on her back, that lull her to sleep. Ivar’s presence brings nothing but peace and he simply makes the puzzle complete. He is here, sharing this moment with her, instead of accusing her of disloyalty and abandon her. He allows her to enjoy her post birth haze, and it warms Kylin’s heart.
Like his words make her stomach flutter. Her hazel eyes find his, wide and surprised, only for her to glance down flustered. “The next one?” she manages to asks, her voice soft as she is suddenly shy like a girl who is being courted. The nip flusters her further, to the point a soft, pleased noise escapes past her pale lips, which are curled up into a smile. A smile that widens as Kylin watches Ivar reach down to touch their girl. Her lips find his curved crest, and press kiss along it. “For the next one” she mumbles agreeing.
His question makes her smile, and she would’ve laughed softly if she hadn’t been afraid of waking their baby girl. Her nose finds his shoulder, to nudge it playfully. “How can she not? We both do, and we’ll be there to teach her.” Kylin can already imagine the scene in her head, she only has to close her eyes. She sees herself standing on the beach, watching Ivar in the shallows, with Kypria not far from him. Just like her imaginary self, Kylin is smiling.
Her eyes slowly open again, and she has to blink them a couple of times before she can focus her gaze upon Ivar. Still smiling. “You can teach her, like you taught me.” It had been during his first visit to Ischia, the first time they’d met too. And a memory Kylin holds dear. “And, perhaps, watch the baby turtles hatch from their shells after.”
The surprise and shyness in Kylin's voice is met by Ivar's bold grin. She does not take much convincing at all, the kelpie is pleased to find. He trails his muzzle across her shoulder even after she pulls away, pressing in a silent command to thinking of being happy with each affectionate caress. In the time since Ivar's first discovery of his hypnosis, the sapphire scaled creature has become rather adept at it. Rather than forceful and clumsy commands, they are now barely more than a suggestion, unnoticeable to the average mind as a result of his practice and refinement.
When Ivar had first used his hypnosis on the day of Kypria's conception, Kylin had not seemed to notice. He'd waited, hesitant, but she has not yet brought it up. The kelpie can only assume she is totally unaware of his artificial manipulation of her thoughts. That is for the best, he knows. She is happier this way.
His proof of this is in Kylin's blissful smile when she answers him. Of course their daughter will like swimming, she reassures him and Ivar nods, pacified for the time being. The tobiano mare reminds him of her own first lesson, and the grin on Ivar's white lips softens and he places another nips along her jaw.
"You were a fast learner," he says, just before she mentions the sea turtles.
The hatching is not the strongest part of that memory for Ivar. What stands out to him is the promise he made to Kylin that night, to never use hypnosis on her again. The promise he breaks at least daily, if not more often. This does not bother Ivar, of course, as his interest in empathy is negligible at best.
"Most of them have hatched already," Ivar says, having passed the open nests during his travels. It occurs to him that Kylin, who does not leave the island, might not have known this, and so he adds: "But I'm sure we could find one late one."
08-19-2018, 01:14 PM (This post was last modified: 08-19-2018, 01:18 PM by Kylin.)
Like a flower waiting to bloom.
She is happy. The little nudge only strengthens her own feelings, brings them to another level, and all so without Kylin knowing it aren’t entirely her own feelings. The lavender and crème woman is content too, and the bliss puts her in this dreamy state of being. All what is missing is Kyveli, who, although not Ivar’s daughter, is still very much part of the family.
Kylin, too, remembers his promise from that day. But she does not question him. He had promised to never, ever, do that to her again – she remembers standing frozen on the beach, unable to move a single muscle in her body – and she trusts him not too. He had been her friend, and now her lover. Ivar already has her, so in Kylin’s mind he does not need to hypnotize her, nor does he need to nudge her feelings.
But what one does not know, does not hurt them. And her memories of their last swim are still vague. All she knows is that she was tired, but had wanted to stay a little longer anyway.
She cannot help it but to lean into his touch, her own lips finding the corner of his mouth to playfully nip at him in return. “Or perhaps you are a great teacher” she teases, but presses her muzzle against his shoulder right after.
“They have?” The disappointment is clearly written over her face. She had liked the idea of re-living that said moment with the three, or perhaps four, of them. But with Kypria so little, and the season nearing the end… Ivar’s words have her searing his gaze, and her dished head tilting to the side. “In a couple of weeks still?”
Or did he mean right now? But who would watch over Kypria?
