the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
Childbirth has the habit of creating a hormonal daze for a mother - not unlike the first time, although perhaps her shock had come through still when she first laid eyes on her son. But she can get over that - she will, she has to. And she finds herself loving her child anyway, because she's carried him so long, he is the extension of herself, no different from her daughter.
Her floating state of mind helps her love her child, as well as give in to whatever Svedka does. She cannot help but think why, why would he go through such lengths for her, to keep her safe would have been enough if he, she, had been anybody else. He keeps taking her completely off-guard but, in a way she doesn't understand and still finds lovely. Attractive, probably too, had she ever had the time to think on it. She has not, though - her mind so filled with the horrors of last fall, all of winter she'd done nothing but panic a little over it, knowing of the baby growing. And now that her colt is moving, he again takes all of her attention, like a newborn baby always will.
She can feel his warmth on her back and she finds her mind clinging to that warmth. He's her anchor, to keep her from drifting, and whatever she had to talk about (ask where he had been off to, again question him why he would stay close to her so much) is lost, and she lets the wings flutter with the slight tremble that his ticklish teeth settle into them.
He moves and looks her in the eye, and she's already starting to answer the expected question when the words register, so it comes out a little weird. "Not," wholly, but I will be. Stopping herself, she frowns. "I didn't mean..." Heavily flustered, she shakes her head and focuses on the small conversation he then has with the soft heap of grey feathering beneath her.
She takes a step backwards to let her baby take his first attempts at standing. Of course, he falls a few times, nothing she worries over. She bites back a chuckle when he once tries to move a wing instead of a foreleg, which lands him miserably on his nose. "Those are not for walking, Llowell." she tells him softly, giving the boy a nudge to try again. There's something soft about him, she sees, and she can only hope he will take after her more in personality. But her baby has her smile again, if briefly, while she is nestled next to Svedka's warmth as well. She feels safe here, now, and she is a mother. Perhaps he has the wrong father, and perhaps all is not as is should have been, but for now, most of it is well. That should be enough.
@[Svedka] Don't know if you want to reply to this, I feel like it's a good ending. If you want a new one, tag me anytime (: