08-27-2016, 04:46 PM
now don’t you understand…that I’m never changing who I am?
This pregnant mama was busy eating. Reagan paced herself, head to the ground, sampling what little of the grass was left during the course of the winter, but even as most of the rest of the land found their waistbands slimming down from lack of food, Reggie found that she only became more round as the season progressed, feeling the churning of life within her. This was a baby that she would raise, or she wouldn’t—it was entirely up to the baby. Babies born from the clutches of old magic have a great habit of being able to fend for themselves at a very early age, utilizing their unique abilities almost from infancy, controlling their environment and being able to be independent as if they’d never needed parents at all.
Such was the case with the one that Reagan carried. Born of deep magic, this baby would be special, and as it moved around inside her, Reagan knew that this particular child would be very special in the eyes of those who would continue to look after her and be within her company as she grew older. Reagan felt at this moment that she would not mind being one of them.
Flicking her tail, she slapped her back and swayed back and forth as she continued to pace, head down, almost as if she was dancing in time to the rhythm of her baby’s kicks. It was almost as if she was surrounding herself with music, the way she absent-mindedly danced while she ate. Carefree, almost youthful.
When she was anything but, in both categories.
Of course she knew that Ruan was coming. She would have been a blind fool not to have felt his presence from 100 paces away, let alone close enough to hear him approach and speak to her as if she were a priceless artefact in some museum someplace. What had given the impression that she was to be treated thusly? Was there something on her face? Or between her teeth? Her old body was certainly not something to revel at. She was wracked with the scars of her past, her darkening points and green-tinged hair belying her age… and her rather odd chosen affinity for moss and bad personal hygiene.
She heard him speak, and she said nothing. She continued to eat, filling that ever growing pregnant stomach of hers, dancing slightly in circles around him head to ground. After a little while, she stopped, snuffled through the snow. With a hoof she pawed at the ground, and dug up the odiferous root vegetable known as the wild potato. She pinned her ears back and hissed, reached down with her teeth and barely picked it up, flinging it away from her with all the strength she could muster—which, considering she is a pregnant hormonal female with magic in her veins, was probably halfway to the other side of the world—before righting herself, huffing, and choosing that rather unceremonious moment to address that she was not alone, had not been alone for some time, and had actually been talked to by a male who had absolutely no idea who she was.
So sweet.
“Odious things, potatoes. How they are allowed to grow wild when they belong in the caverns of Hell is one paradox I shall never completely understand. How is your day going, Ruan?”
She waits. But he better make it quick. She’s still hungry, and she’s eating for two.
Such was the case with the one that Reagan carried. Born of deep magic, this baby would be special, and as it moved around inside her, Reagan knew that this particular child would be very special in the eyes of those who would continue to look after her and be within her company as she grew older. Reagan felt at this moment that she would not mind being one of them.
Flicking her tail, she slapped her back and swayed back and forth as she continued to pace, head down, almost as if she was dancing in time to the rhythm of her baby’s kicks. It was almost as if she was surrounding herself with music, the way she absent-mindedly danced while she ate. Carefree, almost youthful.
When she was anything but, in both categories.
Of course she knew that Ruan was coming. She would have been a blind fool not to have felt his presence from 100 paces away, let alone close enough to hear him approach and speak to her as if she were a priceless artefact in some museum someplace. What had given the impression that she was to be treated thusly? Was there something on her face? Or between her teeth? Her old body was certainly not something to revel at. She was wracked with the scars of her past, her darkening points and green-tinged hair belying her age… and her rather odd chosen affinity for moss and bad personal hygiene.
She heard him speak, and she said nothing. She continued to eat, filling that ever growing pregnant stomach of hers, dancing slightly in circles around him head to ground. After a little while, she stopped, snuffled through the snow. With a hoof she pawed at the ground, and dug up the odiferous root vegetable known as the wild potato. She pinned her ears back and hissed, reached down with her teeth and barely picked it up, flinging it away from her with all the strength she could muster—which, considering she is a pregnant hormonal female with magic in her veins, was probably halfway to the other side of the world—before righting herself, huffing, and choosing that rather unceremonious moment to address that she was not alone, had not been alone for some time, and had actually been talked to by a male who had absolutely no idea who she was.
So sweet.
“Odious things, potatoes. How they are allowed to grow wild when they belong in the caverns of Hell is one paradox I shall never completely understand. How is your day going, Ruan?”
She waits. But he better make it quick. She’s still hungry, and she’s eating for two.