It is not light that we need, but fire; birthing/syl

[Ironfire]

It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.

Everything had always been so bright and wet and warm within. So the noisy colt makes his displeasure known as he is born sprawled upon the sand in the night.

 
He doesn’t get to his feet at first, he merely cranes his plum-colored neck around to allow himself a moment to fully take in his surroundings. It’s chilly and its dark and he doesn’t fucking like it. Nope, not even a little.
 
It’s too open here and the ground? What the fuck is ground made of? He especially disliked the ground. Small, amethyst ears flick back indignantly at the granules that clung to his wetness. Oh, hell no.
 
The colt squalls as he stumbles up upon shifting sand with new, spindly legs. He moves to his mother’s side instinctually, grumbling and hungry. Basically he was born an ornery little shit. 

LUPEI X SYL

white fire manipulation, limited immortality 

[Syl]

Life has been strange since leaving Paradise Beach.

Syl has spent the last few years wandering around Beqanna and outside Beqanna alike, never staying in one place for too long. She’s run into a few stallions along the way, had a few children, but she’s never been truly … happy.

Her time with Lena and Nerissa still weighs heavily upon her mind. She hopes that Lena, wherever she is (was she even real?) is doing alright, that she's happy, that she and her mom managed to find a new home. There’s no way that she’ll ever know of course, but she can’t help but hope.

Syl too is beginning to wish for a home. She’s tired of wandering, but she has yet to find a place that truly feels like home to her. She’d thought she’d found one with Skullu, so long ago …

But then he’d disappeared.

For now though, she stops in the first place that feels at all familiar - a place of rolling sands and burning hot sun. So close to yet another old home of hers.

She hides away from the other members of the kingdom, keeping to herself in one of the smaller oases. And there she lives, quietly, until it’s time to give birth.

The process itself is easy - she’s used to it by now - but the colt that comes out is whiny, loud and clearly hungry. She can’t help but smile as as the boy stumbles to her side over the shifting sands. “Come here, drink up little grump. Little … Ironfire.”

syl

when you think of love do you think of pain?

Argh what is this?