I'm looking for the sky to save me; birthing, any

[Carys]

I'm looking for the sky to save me, 
looking for a sign of life

Carys has kept to herself since joining Kirin’s herd.

There are others here - she can smell them - but she has no desire to join them, not yet. She tells herself that she just wants to relax, that she just wants the time to herself to recover, but in reality, she doesn’t know how to interact any more. She’s spent so much time isolated in the depths of her own misery that she doesn’t know how to reach out. To connect.

The almost isolation isn’t all bad though. The Cove is a beautiful and peaceful place, even with the weird, creepy iron statue, and Kirin, when he does visit her, is perfectly gentlemanly and kind. And in spite of her past history, she can’t help but have a little kernel of hope invested in the new life that is currently growing inside her.

Maybe, just maybe, she could start a new life here, with Kirin. She does not love him, but that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need to love him to be happy, for them to be happy.

Maybe a new, quiet life here could make up for all that she’s lost.

But, when the day finally rolls around and the labour pains hit, she can’t help but be afraid. She hasn’t had a good experience with birth. Her first … she can’t bear to think about, even now. And her second she can’t even remember.

Instinct takes over however, pushing out the fear and in under an hour, a soft, sticky bundle lies in the grass. Full of anxiety, she leaps to her feet, reaching out to the bundle with a shaking muzzle. Then it moves. Alive! She sets to work immediately, cleaning off the child and exclaiming softly every time more of it comes to light.

The first thing she notices are the wings - beautiful, feathered, colourful wings. Just like hers. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes. As more of the muck is cleared away, the coat becomes more clear. It’s not black as she had originally suspected, but a deep, rich purple. Lighter purple crawls up her legs and down her face, forming four little socks and a thin blaze. And it’s a girl. A beautiful little winged girl.

The tears start in earnest then, and try as she might, she can’t make them stop.

carys

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