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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    where the stolen roses grow - kagerus, any
    #1


    Solace

    . . .


    Solace wakes with a start, drawn from her dreamscape by a shift in her body.
    There is a feeling, as if the tide is changing within her, as if an unstoppable force has been set into motion.

    Finally, it is time.

    Solace can feel the foals shifting, grappling with each other to first see the world they had dreamed of. Despite the mid-night chill, there is a thin veil of perspiration on her brow, between her legs, and along her neck. She draws deep breaths of humid, spring air into her lungs, waiting as long as she can before waking Kagerus.

    Solace watches her star-lit companion, soothed by the gentle rise-and-fall of her painted sides. A light rain drizzles outside of the grotto they have called home for the last few days, bringing her the scent of rich humus and wisteria blossoms.  She wonders if Kagerus felt her withdrawal from their dream world - time was a strange thing there. But again, the foals shift - churning her insides and her abdomen contracts.

    This wave of pain puts an end to her musing.

    "Kagerus," she breathes, hot and urgent, afraid yet exhilarated. Solace swats her tail against her sides - a pointless gesture but it scratches some instinctual itch. She paces, but the discomfort follows her, and for the first time in years, she wishes her mother were here. "It's time. They are coming," she groans mindlessly, as if it wasn't clear what was happening here.

    Solace sinks into the bed of supple boughs and catnip Kagerus had made for her, panting as the final stage of birth begins. Her tri-colored mane sticks to her straining neck, and the minutes stretch on, each impossibly longer than the last. But as the sky fades from midnight-blue to violet two small forms, shaky and damp, lie among the branches.

    With a groan she shifts to better see them, the tangled forms of her children, and the pain is forgotten.
    All is forgotten, except for the perfect colt and filly before her, and the warmth of her mate at her side. 




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    where the stolen roses grow - kagerus, any - by Solace - 05-21-2018, 03:13 PM



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