05-26-2018, 01:05 PM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
She leaves him, her eyes quickly darting through the thick brush of Hyaline to hide among the foliage, to tenderly ease herself into a quiet place of solitude so that mother nature could take its course. He smiles at her retreating form, following her a few steps to be sure he could see where Ilma decides to place herself, deciding that he would remain there - guarding her, watching over her, listening for her - until the child was born. Something primal has awakened in him at the scent of birth and blood, and the stallion paces close by, but gives Ilma a wide berth for privacy. He is not the father, but he willingly becomes a caretaker, a steady presence that he can hopefully accomplish in the time to come.
In guarding the area she is in, ensuring her privacy and protection, Svedka’s cerulean gaze lingers on a certain movement in the distance. His ears fall flat, his brow furrowing while his head lowers in attempt to peer through the darkness and shadow to make himself aware of anything that could possibly be amiss. The stallion snorts sharply, moving forward suddenly (before he’s even thought it through himself) at a quick trot, the sound of his approaching hooves easily making him noticed, which is what he wanted. He sees nothing, but something is not sitting well in his heart, so he continues forward, pressing through the birch trees and blossoming flowers, waiting until the feeling of being watched relieve itself before he would even think of turning back.
Whatever had been lingering is now gone, out of Hyaline and into the rocky terrain of the Riverlands. He halts with a sliding stop, tousled mane and forelock cascading over vibrant blue eyes. He raises his head and neighs loudly into the nothingness, a warning to whatever had left such an unfamiliar scent on the trees and their leaves. With a wrinkle of his nose, content that the threat is gone, he turns back towards where Ilma had been left.
Upon returning, a new scent is in the air. Amidst blood and fluid, there is the breath of a child that has now joined the world. Svedka finds them easily, peering through bramble and brush just so that his head is clearly in her sight, nickering a low vibration of questioning. The child is dark and shadowy, though there is a smile that finds Svedka’s lips as he notes the tiny, unfurled and damp wings at the withers of the foal. From his mother, he assumes.
The stallion does not move any closer, awaiting an invitation from the pearly-white mare before interrupting such a serene moment.
In guarding the area she is in, ensuring her privacy and protection, Svedka’s cerulean gaze lingers on a certain movement in the distance. His ears fall flat, his brow furrowing while his head lowers in attempt to peer through the darkness and shadow to make himself aware of anything that could possibly be amiss. The stallion snorts sharply, moving forward suddenly (before he’s even thought it through himself) at a quick trot, the sound of his approaching hooves easily making him noticed, which is what he wanted. He sees nothing, but something is not sitting well in his heart, so he continues forward, pressing through the birch trees and blossoming flowers, waiting until the feeling of being watched relieve itself before he would even think of turning back.
Whatever had been lingering is now gone, out of Hyaline and into the rocky terrain of the Riverlands. He halts with a sliding stop, tousled mane and forelock cascading over vibrant blue eyes. He raises his head and neighs loudly into the nothingness, a warning to whatever had left such an unfamiliar scent on the trees and their leaves. With a wrinkle of his nose, content that the threat is gone, he turns back towards where Ilma had been left.
Upon returning, a new scent is in the air. Amidst blood and fluid, there is the breath of a child that has now joined the world. Svedka finds them easily, peering through bramble and brush just so that his head is clearly in her sight, nickering a low vibration of questioning. The child is dark and shadowy, though there is a smile that finds Svedka’s lips as he notes the tiny, unfurled and damp wings at the withers of the foal. From his mother, he assumes.
The stallion does not move any closer, awaiting an invitation from the pearly-white mare before interrupting such a serene moment.
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Ilma]