And all that she intends, all she keeps inside.. [birth;any]

[Reuen]

in my field of paper flowers The life of the little one throbs; heartbeats small, lively. I watch her, the little ebony form gathering wayward limbs, watching the mother as she gathers shreds of composure. There's something sweet, beautiful about this moment. Special, as though I'm witness to a greatness that occurs as natural as falling rain. Yet as beautiful as a purple sunset. My dull eyes shift, the only movement in my dead still skull. Like some strange stone guardian I stand and watch, hardly imposing with my Crimson stained body, the lacerated skin that throbbed more life than pain. 'A mess.' my voice quivers, lips twisting and tasting the quaint sweet air of the Gates. A flick of an errant ear toward the strangely coloured mare. My nose drops low, resting against the lush clover, tickling my nostrils, my course muzzle. A mess? Was the girl referring to the Crimson that tainted my chocolate form? Or the hollowness I my eyes, as though staring through them into a glass like mirror, where you saw nothing but yourself. 'Reuen.' my voice creaks and crackles like rusted hinges, the title comes to me like a sparrow, quick and fleeting. Ruin. It's all ruin. I say, my whiskers a twitching with disdain at the very fragmented thought. Burning. Blood. Pain. It all falls through my hooves like wreck, like ruin. And I ran. I ran like he said. My legs still throbbing, aching with a delicious pain that reminds me there is some form of life in my hollow frame. Her words grab me, a sweetness that is like honeysuckle, the soft twang of mint in her dainty drawl. I extend my muzzle, some strange twist meeting my course lips. A smile. Vacant and a little bit too toothy. 'Reuen, all is Reuen.' a delicate, fragile feather of a voice breaks the silence. I reach out and touch her soft skin again, she's mixtures of the sun, the setting sun tangerine, the delicate pinks of the horizon. 'Very nice.. Very... Nice.' I mimic her, my head tilting mechanically to the right, to the left, cracked lips shifting into another robotic smile. I watch the girl and her child, the ebony wisp of life finding sustenance as natural as breathing. I watch, intrigued, hollow eyes wide, drinking the scene in. Crimson tattered mane falls errant my over my eyes as they continue to stare. 'Stay? Stay here... Stay.' the soothing voice returns, softly, softly, gentle gentle. 'Please.' I mimic the pregnant mares first gone, desperate, wanting, needing. A swollen promise of hope, blooming like the trailing wild flowers that decorated the gates. My side started to ache, the throb pulsing a few new trickles of life blood, running down my chocolate pelt and enticing more flies. 'Please.' i lie inside myself for hours;