07-30-2018, 09:44 PM
my favorite color is you
you're vibrating out my frequencies.
you're vibrating out my frequencies.
While their days of growth are serene, they also become increasingly cramped. Legs push against bellies and heads press against rib-cages. The triplets spend their final few days in an endless tumble of placenta and almost-finished limbs. They will only be this close together in rare moments from this point on — perhaps in a warm heap beneath their mothers’ feet, perhaps in a bitter argument over something meaningless. None of it will come close to this forced intimacy however, where they grow and stretch around the bodies of one another and press against the swollenness of their mother’s body.
He is the last to slip away from their first home. Warlight had briskly swept herself away from their closeness with her own doings, avoiding the pressure of the birthing canal and the forceful, regular motions of the contractions. Rhaegor had dared himself into perfect position with those slow, purposeful movements — a serious stillness allowing the waves of labor to move him into the world of bright life.
Sviko spends a few extra minutes curled into his corner of the womb, nestled snugly against his mother’s spine where she’s surely endured back pains from his heavy presence. When his lanky body finally flows easily with the direction of the contractions, the warm places of his siblings are dreadfully empty. So too, when he slips from his mother and then struggles against the fluid surrounding him, is the world dreadfully empty compared to his original home.
The light is bright against his pale blue eyes when he first opens them. When the pain fades, the first thing his gaze lands on among the haze is the nutmeg eyes set into a slender bay-and-white face. She’s familiar to him; a smooth face among the wonderful mess of his growing, childish dreams. The gold-splashed boy’s tiny pink nostrils quiver in her direction, a warm greeting already in the back of his throat.
There are others there — his sister and brother, both familiar in their scents and shapes, his other mother, still recovering from the lengthy process of delivery, and an unfamiliar stallion, already working away the dampness of his brother — and Sviko looks them over with an expression of soft interest in his baby-blue eyes.
He is the last to slip away from their first home. Warlight had briskly swept herself away from their closeness with her own doings, avoiding the pressure of the birthing canal and the forceful, regular motions of the contractions. Rhaegor had dared himself into perfect position with those slow, purposeful movements — a serious stillness allowing the waves of labor to move him into the world of bright life.
Sviko spends a few extra minutes curled into his corner of the womb, nestled snugly against his mother’s spine where she’s surely endured back pains from his heavy presence. When his lanky body finally flows easily with the direction of the contractions, the warm places of his siblings are dreadfully empty. So too, when he slips from his mother and then struggles against the fluid surrounding him, is the world dreadfully empty compared to his original home.
The light is bright against his pale blue eyes when he first opens them. When the pain fades, the first thing his gaze lands on among the haze is the nutmeg eyes set into a slender bay-and-white face. She’s familiar to him; a smooth face among the wonderful mess of his growing, childish dreams. The gold-splashed boy’s tiny pink nostrils quiver in her direction, a warm greeting already in the back of his throat.
There are others there — his sister and brother, both familiar in their scents and shapes, his other mother, still recovering from the lengthy process of delivery, and an unfamiliar stallion, already working away the dampness of his brother — and Sviko looks them over with an expression of soft interest in his baby-blue eyes.
Sviko