Where The Wild Things Are; (Birthing), Naga, any

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails There are whispers of pregnancy and of birth, of love and loyalty. Nayl listens with only half an interest until her fiery eyes sweep across the shore and find the scapegoats of the wind’s gossip. A brow lifts as she observes the shifting of their bodies, no longer equine and instead something far fiercer. It reminds her of the jaguars scattered in the Jungle and how they would growl in the shroud of darkness when night fell. While they are different types, the two mares are still feline and therefore in relation to those treasured jaguars. There is no malintent or even hatred painted on her face as she looms nearer to the couple. Her curiosity sweeps away any better judgment just so that she may see what can be conceived between two women. The prospect is boggling – perhaps even disappointing – but Nayl lacks maternal instincts. She doesn’t take a great interest in procreating from love, like a child will be the unbreakable bond uniting two individuals. It’s weakness. Love is weakness. A child is merely leverage. Nonetheless, Nayl reaches them with a neutral and stoic expression as her gaze settles on each of them, but dwells on the small cub. ”Congratulations,” she says in a lackluster tone, ”on having the first child in Nerine.” It is something to treasure and to be proud of, but Nayl can’t bring herself to deceive them with falsified excitement and elation. Their history together is rugged, still not even reasonably close to smooth, but Nayl tries to push it behind her – even just for a moment – to extend her well wishes on their child. Nayl covet and myrina's creation