Cerva is unaware of what has transpired since she had last seen Dovev, since watching Zoryn race away, and since giving birth. What pain oppressed her as been clouded by this new image of life and how innocent and pure it is. When she looks down at Atrani, she sees herself. Once, years ago, she had been a newborn that was ignorant to how terrible this world could be. There has always been an underlying hope that something would change, and that her pain would be replaced by joy and happiness. Life could never always be so horrible, right?
Every day, Cerva lied to herself. Every day she convinced herself that there was a bright side, but there never truly was.
This knowledge, she plans to use as a shield for her eyeless daughter.
”May you never see evil,” she murmurs softly into the newborn’s ear as her head still rests on her tiny body. Without the instinct - or strength - to stand and feed her, Cerva remains grounded. Grass tickles her sides every time she draws in a deep breath. Her nutmeg eyes, brimming with betrayal and hurt, are concealed underneath a forelock, but there is no way that Atrani could see her mother’s despair.
But she can feel it.
The child shifts underneath the weight of Cerva’s resting head. Her frail body wriggles and her long legs grind against the soil as she tries to slip away. Without vision, she cannot see what lies around her or what world she has been forced into. Hesitation would be her initial perspective to take, but she reaches forward and manages to escape the weight of her mother before turning blindly to where she may be. ”Atrani,” Cerva whispers exhaustedly, but it’s all she can muster to say before she hears the cracking of twigs and rush of bodies through the meadow. Where she considered herself alone, secluded from prying eyes, she was actually more easily found. On the outskirts of the meadow and with her scent still cloaking Zoryn’s nostrils, it doesn’t take long until her moments of peace end with a screeching halt.
She hadn’t expected to see Dovev. The memory of him was all she knew for the past months; it was all that she clutched to as her stomach grew heavy with child. Many would rise and immediately embrace a lost lover, but Cerva doesn’t move. For a long while, she merely drinks in this new sight. Careful note is taken of his boney armor and hiss emaciated body. Dovev is different and yet all the same. She can hear it in his voice, the possessiveness he always had for her, but she doesn’t waver. Instead, she tilts her head away and settles her eyes on their daughter. The girl is fumbling around and twisting her neck in every direction from which sound comes. She hasn’t yet tried to stand, comfortable with mother’s heat still fanning lightly across her skin, but she squirms her body toward the sound of a man, to hear him tell mother to stand. Father, she wonders but never says aloud.
Cerva doesn’t rise when Dovev demands it. She blinks and sighs, shifting herself beneath their stares. ”No,” her response is firm, her teeth clenched, ”just take your daughter and go.” Atrani exhales defeatedly, but says and does nothing except wait.
Cerva