"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
Head bobs as lids flutter shut heavy from the droning of crickets. Echos of heated encounters could be heard in the back of the cave. Whispers of the claiming tainted the air. She was his now, bruises from his loving touches. Swelling of her barrel showed his possession of her. A flicker of something in her chest alerts her to the pleasure it had held for her.
He wasn't gentle with his lovings, but he was beautiful. He was warm, he was security, he was an anchor in her world of shame. He loved her coloring, he didn't see her as ugly. She didn't see any disgust in his red eyes. The agitation in his voice spoke of something darker that lurked inside of him. Against all better judgement she wanted to know what it was. Then she is bitten Did I speak out of turn Zayn? She had inquired of him. She didn't believe that he would do any such thing out of turn. She must have caused it.
Her muscles contort with pain. They writhe and buckle uder the bone searing heat that traveled up her joints. Everything was being pulled apart. She thought her body was going to be nothing but peices on the cave floor. Then its over.
It was a little bundle of pink and blonde. Her eyes, the creature at her feet had her eyes. But Zayns coat. It was beautiful a mix of them meshed together to create something beautiful. This was the sign of their belonging together. It was a colt, she licks it clean, each stroke full of love and pleasure. Zayn would be proud. She hoped to see him soon, ears flicking to the opening of the cave.
The pink mare nudged the boy to his hooves, nuzling him into her life giving nutrition. Prancing in place a little, her soreness didn't matter in the place of seeing Zayns response to their son for the first time. What should we name him? her teeth glinting in the weak light of peaking sun. She was a proud mama and her smile spoke of that.
It’s been an excellent season for Zayn. So far he’s had two sons and a daughter - enough to please any herd stallion. But, there’s one more to go at this point (he’s given up on ever seeing that dark mare from the field again), and whatever it is, it will just be icing on the cake.
Ever since Becca finally popped, he’s been keeping a very close eye on Nixie, the last of his mares still waiting to give birth. He’s grown rather fond of the mare over the winter, though not in the traditional way by far. Nixie … lets him play. And he has his fun with her. He is gentle with her, or rather, more gentle than he would be with a mare than actually fought back. But more than once he’s left his mark on her lurid pink coat.
He’s made sure to be careful during her pregnancy though. He’s only left injuries in places that are sure to have no effect upon the child. The child doesn’t need to be in perfect health to carry on his line, but it certainly helps.
He’s in fact digging his teeth into her withers when she finally succumbs to labour. He steps back, watching the whole process with a mixture of disgust and excitement. He hadn’t exactly wanted to see the birthing process, but now that he’s here and it’s happening he can’t leave. He wants to see the result.
Then, finally, it’s over.
And oh lord, the child is pink. Well, partly pink. Zayn peers in at the child, noting the golden coat and the vibrant pink mane and tail. And the gender - a boy. Zayn is silent for a moment, considering. Pink is not really the greatest colour on a son …
But no matter. The child at least appears healthy.
Nixie is smiling at him now, asking about what they should call him. Zayn considers for a moment. “How about Hovik?” Another good, strong name. He turns to properly look at Nixie. “He’s a credit to you, my dear.”
He may not be the first born, by far the most gifted. But what he did have was the strange coloring of blue, gold, and pink. And possibly the only child made out of love in the whole herd. Looking up at the dark world inside of the cave he takes in each scent. Takes in each look with a growing desire for knowledge. He is quiet at first. Standing there next to his mother, and looking at his father. Cocking his head to the side a little bit. Its a moment of complex thinking. Wondering at the thoughts that the other had.
Would he br proud of what love could produce? Or was he going to be the dissapointed that a son was partially pink. HovikI believe that the credit goes to both of us. The light in her eyes told him that there was something deeper there, something that he couldn't fully understand.
She was nuzzling up to the man, and he takes a step closer to them. And he over hears her whisper thank you Zayn Thank you? Thank you for what? The child couldn't comprehend, but what ever was happening it seemed that she adored the man with red eyes.
grandson of Gryffen, Son of Zayn, and Darling of Nixie.
04-07-2016, 11:38 PM (This post was last modified: 04-07-2016, 11:39 PM by Tinsel.)
She thanks him for his praise, as well she should - it’s rarely given and she’s earned it. Little Hovik, bright pink tail and mane and all, is a fine specimen. A handsome, healthy little boy. She’s done well in spite of her mental weakness. Zayn only hopes that the boy has inherited his mental fortitude from his father instead of his mother.
He watches as the boy stands at Nixie’s side, staring in return at his father. He’s a quiet child, serious, curious. The pink-tipped child takes a step forward and Zayn steps forward to meet him, pale golden head lowering to meet pale golden head.
“Hello Hovik. I’m your father, Zayn.” He’s momentarily struck by how much he’s accomplished in the past few years - a captaincy in the Chamber army, eight kids to his name (eight!) and a little herd with five mares and a whole gaggle of children. He’s done well … and little Hovik is just another little bit of icing on that cake. Another strong son to, hopefully, make him proud.
He turns to Nixie, smiling widely and nudging at her in faux affection. “Should I let you rest, m’dear?” He hopes so. While he had been eager to meet his latest child, the stink of birth is starting to get to him a little. But he must at least act chivalrous …
