Loneliness lures her from the Gates. There is no one yet that she has met or attached herself to and so she has continues her days in solitude. The pain of it is excruciating; it rips at her heart day after day, beat after beat. Her life had been spent with her brothers and her parents. They had a family – dysfunctional, but still bonded – and a home, but it has tapered to an end as the triplets grew and mother disappeared with the seasons. Perhaps then Cerva should be well adapted to isolation, but she finds herself wanting to avoid that. There are voids in her heart that she wants – needs – filled. Success won’t be the glue to hold her together; it’s family, it’s love that she truly desires most.
The idea of children bundled alone in a meadow is a knife that buries deep into her broken heart. She has never seen it herself (why would she?) because the gods found it fit to bless her with parents that were willing to keep her around. Others, however, seem to not be quite so fortunate.
Her eyes hungrily rove and sift through the tall grass. Nightfall is looming ever nearer. Cerva glances up to the moon and smiles fondly as it tries to peek through the clouds. In her other form she is nocturnal and so being here, like this, is confusing her own body. While she would generally be asleep during the day she is instead trying to accustom herself to what may be considered normal. Cerva slowly blinks with her nose still lifted to stare at the sky, but a soft rustling brings her attention to this forgotten field where children lie in wait for their futures. A smile trembles across her lips when she sees the girl (so young, so innocent) shift in her sleep and shuffle her intangible wings. Unfamiliar with motherhood, Cerva hesitates. A long moment is spent watching the foal peacefully slumber beneath the porcelain moonlight. It’s almost entrancing to watch the shadows seemingly flicker and ripple across her coat.
Does she wake the child, or let her rest?
A lump forms in Cerva’s throat as she lifts her eyes to look in each direction prior to falling back on the young one. ”Hello, sweet girl,” her voice is a lullaby, so gentle and sweet as her legs buckle and slowly lower her body down into the grass. Whether the child wakes or not Cerva lies close, protective and concerned. She says nothing more as the night’s orchestra begins to play around them.
Cerva