[mature] a wind full of infinite space; Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

She reminds him quickly why she’s his mate. The flash of her perfect teeth in response to his mistrust warrants a similar reaction, but his is made with a hiss of unspoken forgiveness. Longclaw would never question her again. It was the irritation of his not knowing that grated against his attitude, left him squirming with festering boredom and stoked the fires of action in his belly. He would die, maim, kill for her and sometimes, Claw feels as if he wants an opportunity to prove this.

Men.

I was out. His dame toys, and the curious flick of his brow smooths the wrinkles of a snarl off his lips. He can hardly protest with her reasoning, (she’s always right, anyways) and besides, Femur is engaged in soothing his tempestuous nature in a manner he quite frankly approves of. The soft glide of her angelic lips over the curve of his proud ear bends his neck low; a guttural croon tickles his throat and for a moment, he forgets about the odd smell she’d brought along with her. His thoughts are drifting elsewhere, to things children shouldn’t be privy to.

Come out child. His she-wraith beckons, the cold absence of her touch startling him into sudden awareness. As stoic and motionless as he’d been before, now Longclaw is truly carved from stone and, breathless, he watches the emergence of a finely-made colt. For a second, his black heart thuds darkly with hot rage - the blinding fury that she would bring some thing here like a pet, it - well it … well ….

But the babe’s eyes have glanced up now; they connect with their father’s matching ones and silently the two regard one another.

His first thoughts go something like this: He’s got no idea who the mother is. Urge and the simplicity of the action had been the source of this boy’s creation. The only mare in Longclaw’s life worth anything is standing right beside him, with her impossibly seductive mouth curved into a sour pout. This is, however, his son. Color and looks ran strong through the male lines of his family, he’d be a fool to deny it.

So, that would make him Father. “A father. A dad.” He thinks, the two words he’d been forbidden to use when addressing Wyrm. Instantly he feels the pressure of a dark fate; this boy would end up as he did, and his father before him - wasted. The succession of Longclaw’s sire’s had all been terrible with their spawn. Fear seizes him and his gaze tears away from the boy to fixate on Femur. “Don’t ask this of me …” He wants to say, but there’s no room for error this time. He can see it clearly in the gem-like cut of her dark eyes.

He’d nearly taken her life, but she’d given it to him freely after the encounter anyways. It was his turn to sacrifice everything within him that screamed otherwise. “You are not your father.”

Inside of him, something breaks free.

“What should we call him?” Longclaw says at last, expelling a breath he’d been unaware was waiting in his lungs.

@[Femur]