how come I never got used to the feeling of sleeping in a cage?
too long driving, too damn hungry; a tied-up hound but nothing stays
She hasn’t left, not really.
There was a brief visit to the forest where her eyes once again found Sinner shrouded in darkness. Sylva is no longer his, he said. There was a pang in her heart, a crack that split through her, but she remained composed. She had to. Even as her womb housed life during their reunion, Valdis remained stoic until the meeting quieted and disbanded. Contractions pulled her away and into the direction of Pangea where she has found some amount of comfort these past few months. It’s fitting that the King’s child should be born within the kingdom.
The memory of their coupling flashes across her eyelids as they slowly drift shut. Valdis is already in Pangea, lying down in anticipation. Springtime’s sunlight bathes her as contractions continue to grip her. The span of time between each lessens. A heavy breath escapes her. This is all too familiar. First Dracarys, then Erio.
A flicker of concern opens her eyes to search for the small boy, but his scent is faint and his image nonexistent. Wandering again, she presumes, but doesn’t bother to pursue him as pain wracks through her. Then again.
Her breath hisses through her clenched teeth as sweat rises to her coat. Her entire body glistens as it teeters between hot and cold – frost and perspiration – and the pain versus moments of a lull. Alone, Valdis has no other option than to reassure herself. Hushed words escape her, wanting only for it to end before it has even truly begun. Erio’s delivery was eerily fast and simple, but that can be assumed based on his size. So this one, she muses, will be normal and strong.
Minutes melt into hours as the labor continues through the night and into the dawn. Brief periods of time allotted opportunities to graze, but Valdis otherwise is lying down until, finally, a child emerges. Exhaustion rushes through her as the adrenaline recedes. Every muscle trembles, and they groan when Valdis forces herself to rise and address the small foal. Despite her fatigue, her eyes brighten fondly when they trace the filly’s small – but normal – body. ”My little gem,” in the early hours of morning, with the sky pastel-painted, she reaches down and brushes her daughter. She duly notes the soft kiss of blue flirting with the white of her skin, the metallic sheen of her damp Mohawk, and the markings across her delicate face. Smiling, approving, Valdis whispers into the cool air, ”My little Altissima.”
Valdis
@[litotes] @[Squirt]