she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees
try her boy but she'll still do what she please
The irony of her latter sentiment at their meeting was not lost upon her, and Aysel would have laughed wholeheartedly if she were not succumbed to pain and sudden tension of muscle.
Dragging herself away she walked, waded and moved through the foliage of the jungle, her feet dancing amidst moss covered roots and vines: body passing between trees and thick leafing. Moisture clings to the vast expanse of green and she tastes the tang of sulphurous volcanic ash on the wind- something that prompts her to look where crevice and crag have broken the earth and heat radiates from the depths of the caverns and grim passages.
In the low mist and steam she lays in a clear patch of soft ground, and she stretches as pain riddles her body and agony floods every synapse. Writhing and twisting, she sweats and huffs in anguish: she recalls this feeling, remembers and considers that it is not forever.
Hours pass, day turning to night, and she is still in pain: still burdened by the rigors of labour.
Stars give way and finally, in the first rushes of dawn she is able to know relief and a dull sensation as the girl is spilled onto the earth. Aysel cannot help but follow more primitive instincts as she carries on and cleans, frees,a dn eases the babe.
“Segolene,” she quips- murmuring and soft. “My darling little Segolene.” and the filly stumbles: it wobbles and falls, bouncing too and fro- struggling to stand.
Proud of the small girl, Aysel rises and stretches as she notes the way the spindly creatures finds its legs and leans against her own hip and limbs. Sniffing and kissing, she tenderly nudges the girl and lifts her head as the babe blurts out a small: “Blyah!” and begins to rattle off other noises.
“Care to meet her,” she calls out loudly- looking sidelong to heavy footfalls and moving branches: well aware of smell and pace. “Blyah!” the babe interrupts, and Aysel considers for a moment that perhaps she is a goat; but such a thing is alleviated as the child feeds and falls to quiet.
With her gaze side long she gestures to the soft grey-brown child and her spattered patterns that almost matched their mothers varnish. “She has your eyes.” statement, and something that ends in a chuckle.
@[magnus]