08-04-2015, 11:32 AM
I stare at the blob of life and fur, hollow eyes filling with a glaze of tears. I stayed so silent, so motionless, eyes just attuned upon the small body strewn on the ground. He gasps, gasps with silent screams, lungs like iron, folding in on himself. I continue to stare, remembering how to taste of metal, the kiss of iron had felt. I shivered with the memory, the ache in my bones very raw, and very real.
I hear full thuds, and an ear finds the source. One eye casts a quick glimpse and finds Tioga. The very girl I had seen in this very predicament last spring. I whuffled, my nostrils sharply inhaling the claret and life birth on the air. She tells me to clean him. Him, the little bundle of wet life, a shell of blood and goo, he was a child. He was my child. As if something clicked into place, I nod, bobbing my head like the avian friends do, over and over again. But doing this, I bend my head low. Teeth tearing, pulling at the shell do that the boy can breathe.
And breathe he does. His small gasps make my eyes widen, my body tremble. Not too soon he is wobbling and teetering on spindly pins. Amber eyes searching the new world. He looks up at me and I lower my head, snorting, taking w few steps back.
'A child... A boy.' the words feel stale in my mouth. I turn to Tioga and try and recall what Wichita had done. I shook my head, I was still young, still naive with this sort of thing, but as the small boy butts his head against my leg I recoil, only slightly, dipping my scarred muzzle to his head. He's warm, wet and alive. 'Kernick.' The name slips from my lips, as I nuzzle his forehead. The instinct eventually kicking in, my salmon tongue finds his neck, his shoikder, but before long he is teetering behind me and lipping at my legs. My Hinds dance a bit, to the left, and to the right, his gummy teeth finding the sustenance in moments. And in those moments I finally realise what this has meant.
'I'm a mother. '
I hear full thuds, and an ear finds the source. One eye casts a quick glimpse and finds Tioga. The very girl I had seen in this very predicament last spring. I whuffled, my nostrils sharply inhaling the claret and life birth on the air. She tells me to clean him. Him, the little bundle of wet life, a shell of blood and goo, he was a child. He was my child. As if something clicked into place, I nod, bobbing my head like the avian friends do, over and over again. But doing this, I bend my head low. Teeth tearing, pulling at the shell do that the boy can breathe.
And breathe he does. His small gasps make my eyes widen, my body tremble. Not too soon he is wobbling and teetering on spindly pins. Amber eyes searching the new world. He looks up at me and I lower my head, snorting, taking w few steps back.
'A child... A boy.' the words feel stale in my mouth. I turn to Tioga and try and recall what Wichita had done. I shook my head, I was still young, still naive with this sort of thing, but as the small boy butts his head against my leg I recoil, only slightly, dipping my scarred muzzle to his head. He's warm, wet and alive. 'Kernick.' The name slips from my lips, as I nuzzle his forehead. The instinct eventually kicking in, my salmon tongue finds his neck, his shoikder, but before long he is teetering behind me and lipping at my legs. My Hinds dance a bit, to the left, and to the right, his gummy teeth finding the sustenance in moments. And in those moments I finally realise what this has meant.
'I'm a mother. '