"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
01-05-2016, 10:31 AM (This post was last modified: 01-05-2016, 04:12 PM by Ygritte.)
It was early when it began to start. There was a movement in her belly but unlike what she had grown accustomed to in the past few weeks. This was more pressing, more aggressive. Ygritte's snap open at such force and concern clouds her features just as a squeeze deep inside clenches and momentarily her vision dims and her breath catches. The unborn babe was her first but natural instincts seems to take over, soothing the young soon-to-be mother. Dark eyes look to Mandan's as she rose to her feet (she had been laying down to sleep lately to relieve the stress upon her joints.) Blessedly the morning was warmer than usual but the sun was still sleeping, nested with the birds.
The salmon mare groaned softly as a new wave of clenching and pain shattered her sleepiness and she gains her feet beneath her. Velvet lips reach to gently rouse her sleeping mate. "Mandan..." She whispers his name against his skin now, needing his touch to give her strength. She can feel the clenching beginning again and she grits her jaw to brace for it. Pools look as Mandan hoping has woken to witness the birth of child.
Ygritte moves from their sleeping place but not far from the falls in case they should need the healing traits of the waters in this sacred event. The young mare is scared and panting softly when she reaches the soft grasses in which she practically falls into, her knees scratched and dirty in the dirt and she lays her head upon the earth, breathing and resting as another contraction takes her body. They seemed almost connected at this point, only a few moments between the waves. She must shut her eyes and smell the damp ground that surrounds her seemingly gaining strength from the very earth that surrounded her like a grassy embrace. Limbs push to shift her weight to her side, the belly bulged and clenching when Ygritte feels warmth flow from her and under her and she is alarmed thinking she was bleeding to death right then and there but upon a labored lifted of her skull she can see it is not blood but another liquid. It smells of something different but at least it is not blood. She drops her skull with a heavy thud back into a neutral position and then as if possessed, her body contracts and she starts to push.
Push
Hoof tips Push
Long, long legs Push
A head, a pink star, withers Push
A filly is born
Ygritte can only lay there breathing shallowly. So tired. Dark eyes roll to search for her mate's warm features, his presence alone comforts her. A weary smile crosses her lips before she moves to find her feet without much thought to her own body, moving to find the small wet foal that had just raised her head. Her! Eyes dampen in the rush of emotions and she is overwhelmed but keeps it together...barely. Lips touch the little girl child, nuzzling, licking, wuffling. The baby pushes against Ygritte, wobbling with the weight of her own skull as she lays dazed under the wink of the first morning stars.
Tiny eyes blink and start to clear and they look at this creature that was presently touching her. Mother. The tiny mind comprehends this thought she filly does not know why. Tiny head looks to see another of another scent nearby though she is not sure of the connection yet but what she is sure of is that she wants to move from the wet ground. Little spidery limbs shoot out and brace as the help from the mother-horse begins to get under her and easing the movement of the girl. The filly finds her feet though they don't particularly agree with this and she promptly tumbles over in a heap of limbs.
It takes a few more tries before the baby manages to stand on her own and instinctively searches for her first meal, Ygritte guiding gently. The woman smiles softly, lovingly. She looks to her mate as the sun crests and the first rays of sun spill over the falls. "What shall we call her, my love?" Soft, soft tones are all she can muster right now through the exhaustion.
01-05-2016, 11:34 AM (This post was last modified: 01-07-2016, 01:34 PM by mandan.)
He is always near, anticipating the moment that she will rouse him and tell him it is time for the birth of their foal. This is not a thing that he wants to miss but knows too, that most stallions do not witness such a sacred moment as birth but this is his first foal and he will be there whether his mate wants him to be or not, even if he has to watch from afar. He is beside his mate, afoot while she lies abed, so very tired these days, he has noticed. Concern is a familiar shadow that clouds his face as her condition furthers, seems to worsen, though he knows she is tougher than most despite that delicate frame of hers. She stirs at his feet and he looks down at her, frowning - he knows what has woke her, the impending birth, and he surveys the morning in which a sun has yet to rise from amidst the trees, he thinks its warmth would be welcome to her right now, as soothing as his presence perhaps.
Mandan is roused further from his fruitless dozing (he sleeps little by her side, preferring to remain alert and awake despite the fact that they are safe from any harm here, old instincts die hard) by her groan and his name whispered painfully; he nudges her gently, hoping to steady her as she climbs clumsily to her feet, fat and swaying and ready to burst, and his heart swells fit to burst with love for her as he looks proudly upon his mate. He trails after her, nibbling at the grass along the way; he’s not hungry, it’s just something to do to pass the time until she finds a plot of earth that seems to swallow her up in a grassy embrace. Mandan stays a small distance away, anxious and curious as the earth and her flanks grow wet with birth fluid and then his ears prick forward and his eyes shine brighter when the hooves slide forth, followed by long legs (longer than he remembers his own to have been!) and the body at last!
He whickers to Ygritte, encouraging and humbled by what has just taken place; he is so very, very proud of her for enduring that! The bay watches as his mate cleans their foal and the little one pushes against her, eager to suckle and he cannot help but chuckle at the picture of them, so very quaint and beautiful together. “Well done my love,” he commends her, his voice a soft thunderous boom of pride and happiness. He watches Ygritte bolster their daughter - he can see it is a filly now - to stand for the first time, and the filly is a quick study after a few tries that involve falling down, she is upright and wobbly and more precious to him than anything else in the world besides his beloved. “Can I come closer?” he asks, wary of this new mother-mare that is his mate, he remembers watching others kick and bite at those that came too close, so he prefers to err on the side of caution and seek her permission first. His head lowers to show he is no threat to them as he inches forward a step or two; “You name her my love, you did all the hard work.” He smiles broadly at Ygritte and their daughter.
Mandan may not realize it but his presence alone gives her strength. He stands watch over the pair as the little filly greedily suckles till she is so milk drunk that falls to the ground in a tiny heap and promptly falls asleep. The adoring eyes of her mother watches over her, burning every loving detail of their perfect foal in her mind. The pink star upon her brow was a telltale sign that the gods of Beqanna had placed a kiss upon the precious filly blessing her.
Ygritte must tear her eyes from the little one almost painstakingly to meet Mandan's own face. It was not that she does not adore her mate but the young woman is in awe of their creation. This tiny, perfect bundle that was fast asleep in a heap of gangly legs with a little dribble of milk on her chin. Ygritte can do everything she can muster to keep her heart bursting from the love she feels for this little girl. Single lobe flicks towards the bay stallion when he inquires as to moving closer and Ygritte nods eagerly, stretching to meet him.
She revels in his touch, his scent revitalizing her exhausted body and she gently touches her lips to his cheek then to neck, nuzzling and nestling in the long black mane (mindful of those handsome horns of course). Moments tick by quietly as she stands there resting against him till he suggests she name their baby. Ygritte pulls back and thinks a moment, pools shifting to the sleeping girl.
"Josselyn."
Dark eyes move to meet the visage of her stallion's, looking for his approval of the name for their daughter.
In some way, he knows he is her rock like she is his - they give each other strength, and he can only smile as their daughter drinks greedily until she is happy and full and collapses in a sleepy heap at her mother’s feet. He steadies her and she soothes the animal in him; between them, is the precious gift of their daughter and he finds it hard to take his eyes off her perfect little face that pink star between her eyes. Slowly, quietly even or as quietly as a big stallion like himself can move through the grass, does he step closer to Ygritte, trying not to wake the filly - let her have her sleep, he thinks, watching her eyes move behind the eyelids in the grasp of dreams that he hopes are as sweet as her little face is to look upon.
He is quick to bury his face in the heavy silk of Ygritte’s mane, breathing in her scent with as much greed as their daughter had suckled with. Ygritte is doing the same to him, mindful of his horns, and he takes great care to rub the side of his head against her shoulder so he doesn’t catch her with a horntip, but he is consumed by her like she is with him and their happiness swells both their hearts fit to bursting. He briefly wonders how they can stand so much happiness, how long it is meant to last before some shadow of a thing darkens it, but then he dashes such horrible thoughts away and chuffs pleasantly into his mate’s side. Approval fills his dark eyes as he nods in acceptance of this name for their child, he tries it out for himself in a pleasant rumble - “Josselyn,” and smiles, he’s already got a nickname for her in place.
With a glance to his mate, he lowers his great head and blows a warm breath out upon their daughter’s forehead, breathing in her unique scent that is equal parts of Ygritte and himself but also wholly her own and he cannot help wondering over this tiny little bit of perfection that they’ve made. “She’s so beautiful,” he murmurs, backing away to resume his former stance alongside Ygritte.
The tired woman closes her eyes and relishes in her mate's touch when he buries against (always mindful of the horns). Her smile speaks for her as two small tears trickle from the corners of the amber eyes and saturate her cheeks. It's all she can do to express her gratitude for Mandan and the blessing that lay snoring softly at their feet.
The sound of their daughter's name on his lips makes her heart skip and his approve makes her heart soar. The adoration is his eyes and his smile is what heaven on earth must feel like. The little pink starred filly is what angels truly look like. The woman presses against her mate when he takes her side and she gently lips his mane, lovingly. "We did good, my love." Tones are hushed as to not disturb little Josselyn.
"I love you, Mandan." Eyes seeking the stallion's as she speaks. The mare can not recall if she had openly told the man those simple but powerful words or if they had just assumed it from that day in the meadow. But now she did for love pour from every inch of her body stronger than ever for the horned stallion and the tiny filly.
“Yes we did,” he beams proudly. This is what his mother meant when he asked why she had foal after foal season after season. It was because of this feeling of contribution, continuation, of proud modesty that sounds like an oxymoron but makes sense because foals are the cause of pride but are also somehow humbling in their tinyness and innocence. For a stallion, he can be obtuse at times but this, he understands - a father’s love and pride made up in such tiny perfection with a beautiful pink little star on her head.
His eyes find hers’ as she states her declaration of love quietly but soundly; he cannot help but nuzzle her neck and seek her ear with his lips. “I love you too, Ygritte.” It is solemn and sure, as sure as the blood in his veins and the life in every breath he took - she had so subtly and so quickly become his entire world, and now too, their daughter who stirred from her sleep and looked at them with sleepy eyes like they had disturbed her. Mandan couldn’t help but chuckle and then come forward to nuzzle her little brow, “Wake up Joss,” he cajoles gently, nudging her fuzzy little rump. He’s eager to take her exploring, even at a tender age because well… he’s a stallion and he simply doesn’t know any better but he knows this is his daughter and she’s strong like both of them - is the best of both of them, and he would never let harm befall her.
“Get some rest my love,” he encourages his tired mate. “I’ll look after her and we won’t go far, but you need to sleep too.” He turns back to nuzzle her neck lovingly, knowing that she needs to rest and recover from the strain of pregnancy and he is thinking of showing either the trees of the waterfall to Joss, or both - he’s excited, it shows in the tight eagerness of his muscles, the restraint clear as he remains between the two of them but somehow altogether anticipatory and raring to go.
The lids of her eyes already fluttered with heaviness as the soothing sounds of his voice reached her. She smiled dreamily back as he spoke of taking their young daughter for an outing...allowing the new mother to rest.
I love you too, Ygritte.
The words are a lullaby to the salmon and bronzed woman. She just brushes her lips against her mate's cheek in a sleepy tenderness before she drops to the ground in a rather unladylike -oomph- but it is understandable.
The last sight she sees is the father and daughter duo making waves through the tall grasses. The tiny filly bouncing after the strong stallion. A look is cast over her should to her mother before bounding off after her daddy.
Ygritte
