He finds himself wondering what his children will be like. None of the mares he had slept with this past season had shown any inclination wanting to join him in his herd, which means that their children will grow up without his presence in their lives. Part of him is glad - he’s not particularly fond of whiny little brats - but part of him is also a little disappointed. It would be nice to know what they are like - whether or not they take after him at all.
He thinks he would like having a son, or even a daughter, that takes after him. To have a talented little child to raise and mold in his image. He could teach them about his father Carnage, the god, and the power that their family holds. He could teach them all that his mother and grandmother had taught him.
But he won’t have that, not yet anyway. He won’t know the children that he’s produced this breeding season. But who knows what the future holds.
He’s about to slip away into the trees, back to the Silver Cove, when a voice he recognizes rings out in his ears. His iron eyes flick to the side, and there she is. A scarred, buckskin mare. B-something. One of the mares he had wooed this past season. Perhaps his father is blessing him on this day.
His eyes pass over her body, gazing hungrily at the curve of her belly visible beneath her winter coat. What lies beneath her scarred sides? Is there a talented little son or daughter growing within?
His eyes travel back up to hers, and a lazy grin crawls across his face. “Well hello. Fancy seeing you again.” He nods in the direction of her belly. “How fares our little bundle of joy?”
He thinks he would like having a son, or even a daughter, that takes after him. To have a talented little child to raise and mold in his image. He could teach them about his father Carnage, the god, and the power that their family holds. He could teach them all that his mother and grandmother had taught him.
But he won’t have that, not yet anyway. He won’t know the children that he’s produced this breeding season. But who knows what the future holds.
He’s about to slip away into the trees, back to the Silver Cove, when a voice he recognizes rings out in his ears. His iron eyes flick to the side, and there she is. A scarred, buckskin mare. B-something. One of the mares he had wooed this past season. Perhaps his father is blessing him on this day.
His eyes pass over her body, gazing hungrily at the curve of her belly visible beneath her winter coat. What lies beneath her scarred sides? Is there a talented little son or daughter growing within?
His eyes travel back up to hers, and a lazy grin crawls across his face. “Well hello. Fancy seeing you again.” He nods in the direction of her belly. “How fares our little bundle of joy?”
K H A O S
iron son of carnage and oswyn
hell is empty and all the devils are here
Reference here
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