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  • Beqanna

    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


    so the darkness I became; Birthing (Eight, Undy, any)
    #1

    I was in the darkness; so the darkness I became.


    There was nothing ordinary about this birth.

    Children created on the battlefield, two bodies coupling under the outburst of magic. The implosion had filled the air and their lungs, leaving them to ride the ecstasy of the resounding explosion. Still riding the high of battles won, they came together once more. Their coupling was not love, no; but a dynasty in the making. A group of children that would carry on the powerful blood from whence they came, spreading their influence far and wide. Beqanna would know them, Topsail was sure of it.

    The labor was long. It started well before the sun rose to take the sky, and was still clutching at her stomach late into the evening. There was no rest for the wicked, after all. The sweat pooling along her delicate neck told the tale, as did the flexing of the lean muscles lying against her ribcage. As the labor progressed, so to did the contractions. She called for Eight, a certain urgency to her voice she had never allowed him to hear before. This labor was as untypical as the creation of the children had been, and she wanted the magician near should anything go wrong. At the very least he owed her that much. His moral support was not necessarily what she sought from him, but the security his magic provided should something go horribly wrong. She had heard the children, and knew that there were multiples writhing in her womb; triplets, to be exact. The equine form was scarcely able to birth twins, let alone triplets.

    When the pain became more than she could bare, she collapsed to her side. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, her nostrils flared and lined in blood-red as she struggled to expel the children. A groan escaped her mouth as she lay her head in the dirt, longing for the ordeal to be over and put behind her. Finally, a hoof appeared. As she strained, so did the shoulders, followed shortly by the rest of the foal. She turned to clean the foal, acting quickly and noting the foal’s gender; a filly. Before she could do much more, the second foal demanded its exit. Struggling to her feet (and thus breaking the cord to the filly), she staggered forward a few steps before collapsing again. The second birth came somewhat quicker, and before long an identical colt was laying in a heap on the ground. As she had done before, she turned to quickly clean the foal (a colt this time), thus enabling him to breath. Once more (and for the last time), she stood, severing the ties that bound her to the child and preparing herself for the last and final. By this point, she ran on pure adrenaline; her strength was gone, gone far to the wayside. But adrenaline was an amazing thing, and it was on those waves that the last and final foal made its appearance. Calling on reserves, Topsail drew herself up on her side, legs curled beneath her like a resting deer. As she cleaned the last child (again, a colt), she made sure to examine the other two. She was delighted to find they had all been stamped with her likeness; dark, mousey coats, with prominent primitive markings in various places on their tiny bodies. In the exotic curve of their faces she could see their sire, but other than that, they were her exact likeness. (She did not know that Eight’s color change and assured this). A contented sigh left her mouth; tired, body battered, she still admired the foals. “Knoxlyn, I think.” she said, lipping at the fillies scuff of a mane. “And for you…Kilter. Yes, I think that will do.” to the second colt, who bobbed his head in response. “And you, I think, will be Keel.” she murmured to the last colt, who to her surprise was already standing strong and tall on too-long legs. A wonderful looking brood they were; the labor had been worth it. As the children found their bearings (except for Keel, who seemed to be uncommonly strong for his minutes-old age), she watched them, a soft smile curving her pretty lips.



    Topsail

    Queen of the Valley
    #2

    no matter what they say, I am still the king

    He is near – as always. He is never far from the Valley, never unaware of the comings and goings, of the turmoil that may be boiling up beneath her skin. And oh dear, was there things arising. The Valley stirred like a mother with unrest – she knew the triplets were coming. The maelstrom of the three that would change the fate of the Valley – wind and rain and might. And mighty they were.
    Eight heard the call of Topsail ring throughout his mind – but he was already there. The Valley had told him, the magic in his veins had told him – the wind whispered throughout the trees and the blood in his veins throbbed deeply; they are coming. And so he had been there. He had followed Topsail, her body heavy with child, frothing with sweat, a battering ram ready to take on the world. He trailed invisibly, silently (we mustn’t let her think we think her weak) – following the weighty steps she took throughout the land. He was ready, and the Valley ready too - give them to us - she whispered to his bones, his heart, the electric buzz in his veins.
    And then, it was time. She called to him – and he knows it was not out of weakness or company, but for the sheer terror that her body may split in two. For the thought that these three hellions may eat her from the inside up, may tear one another into bits and pieces in their tooth and nail battle to their Nightmother the Valley. And so he came – appearing from the mist like an oil spill, seeping to steady feet away from her. Not too close to insinuate that they were one – that their coupling had been anything more than the adrenaline of the battlefield – but close enough that she knew, the Guardian was there.
    The time etches out – the steady heat of the summers day scorching down on the laboring queen. Eight did the little he thought necessary – misting rains when she seemed as hot as the sun, her body ready to combust with the ever circling planets inside her – shreds of wind to dance her mane in the wind when it stuck too tightly to her sweat ridden body – bays of the Valley wolves to sturdy her mind from anything but the pain. As she labored, he riddled the world with a taste of magic, steady as the Valley mountains.
    And then – they came, in rapid succession the three spilled from her body and onto the ground. They were the palette of Topsail – a grullo sheen for each of them – and with her emanating delight, Eight knew that the genetics of his color he had spun with magic was exactly what the queen had wanted (and who ever thought Eight would care what another wanted?). And still, Eight stood dormant at the edge of the clearing, the quiet queen cleaning and tending her brood.
    Moments pass, the nurturing bond of mother and child was not something Eight cared to embark on – he was not a fatherly figure. He was after all a guardian of the Valley, and while these children were borne of him, they were just another part of the Valley to protect.
    As the youngest colt came solidly to his feet, and Topsail had finished preening and naming – Eight stepped closer, giving a nod to the queen. “ Formidable names, Topsail.” He reached gentle tendrils out to the children, soft wisps that wound themselves throughout their veins, feeling out for what may be inside the children. “It seems they will live up to them.” He gave a quick nod of his head to the youngest, Keel - “He has his grandfathers terrible strength – and your gift for telepathy.” He turns to the only filly, a diamond amongst the rough of her brothers. “She too will speak with her mind.” And finally, the eldest boy - “And he will move things with his mind.” Looking back to Topsail, he nods once more. “Well done, queen. The future of the Valley looks promising.”

    and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in

    #3
    Ruan
    It had been years since he last made the journey to the Valley. In truth, he didn't want to make it now, but felt it was necessary to ease his mind if nothing else. The sooty black of his hide mixed with the shadows of the mountain trees as he paced himself. His spine and ribs stood a stark contrast, however, with pale skin and mulberry-purpled leopard print. Morigan had similar markings. He hoped to find her here.

    Ruan knew he hit the boundary when the wolves howled. It started rough and harried, then drew longer and low as they caught his scent. He could imagine at least a few of them would be old enough to recognize him by smell. They seemed to have accepted him and the sound grew distant as they kept their melody but picked up the patrol further off.

    It was a wolf's song in his mind as he continued his trek; a greeting to old family. He hadn't been back since he was a child. There was a meadow in the center of the valley, he knew, where the inhabitants would gather en masse. There were caves, too, and he looked out in their direction without thinking. He had been raised in them, until Morigan had come. She had seen his malnourished body, and the state his mother's mind was in, and taken him away.

    They both had returned once, in search of their mother, but had never found her. Now he came in search for his elder sister Morigan instead, the only mother-figure he truly had. He reached an overhang at the edge of the mountain and his brow creased with worry as he gazed at the valley below. There didn't seem to be as many people here as he thought he remembered, but he was so young then. Nonetheless, Morigan did not appear to be there. Where could she be?

    There was one that caught his eye though, a grullo very large with child. She seemed preparing to birth and he grimaced. He didn't want to intrude, but he had to find his sister. Perhaps he could do something for her..

    Ruan lost sight of the mare as he ventured deeper into the trees and lower in the mountain, scaling his way to the base. It took him a while but when he cleared the trees, he saw she was in labor. His mind couldn't even comprehend how much she was having to endure, motherhood was truly miraculous.

    Ruan hesitated a great distance away, unsure at the appropriateness of his presence at this time, but stayed nonetheless. He knew there was nothing he could do to ease her physical exhaustion, but perhaps he could provide her at least a little respite from her efforts.

    His gaze focused on the air above her spine. He sensed more than saw the water molecules there, flowing with ease in the warm temperature. By slowing them down, he would be able to cause the temperature to drop as the molecules banded together. But as he targeted them, he saw them already shifting to do as he intended and more. His widened eyes flew to a stallion, materializing from the air near her. Ruan tensed instinctively. It was a powerful magic this stallion wielded so easily, one Ruan had not witnessed elsewhere. Power meant danger, his sister had told him once. She was very cautious and did what she could to instill it within him as well.

    But the other stallion did not act maliciously as he did things to help the mare even Ruan had no power to do. He suddenly felt as an unwelcome stranger witnessing intimate events. He wished he could remember these people from his childhood, but he did not. The eldest wolves seemed to recognize his scent at least enough to grant him passage, but he supposed he was just a stranger here to the other inhabitants.

    He maintained his distance until well after the triplets had been born. Triplets! Birthing was no easy feat, and she had done it thrice in rapid succession. His mind awed at the notion, blown away by the thought of motherhood, the true magic of the world. She seemed wearied, but strong. Amazing.

    He waited as the stallion spoke low to her. At Ruan's next step, even at this distance, he could see the stallion became aware of him. His chest tightened anxiously, but he pressed forward. He halted when he could speak without having to raise his voice to be heard.

    "Congratulations," he said with a polite smile. "The gift of life is not so easy as you make it look, I am sure. You have done truly wonderful."

    His eyes lit with genuine happiness for her. His sister often told him he was too friendly, too selfless and it seems it may have been true. Ruan looked to the children, his smile widening. There was something in the innocent play of a child that thoroughly warmed him. Especially when he would form snow flurries and watch them give chase, squealing in joy. He wasn't a father, and didn't think of himself as one any time soon, but he did so enjoy playing with them.

    He drew is gaze back to the adults.
    "I apologize for my intrusion. I was born in the Valley and haven't seen my sister in years. I was hoping she would be here." He glanced around as if hoping she had shown up in the time he had been standing there.

    He had planned on searching for her and moving on to the next place if necessary, but.. he hesitated. Perhaps he should stay, in case she was searching for him too. It was likely that she would also end up here to find him, where he and his mother had lived.
    "I think I'd like to stay," he said carefully, not fully confident in this decision. "Who should I seek to be accepted?"








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