;
The trauma of birth from the first moments of eviction through to the last moments before cold and first breaths will never be recalled by the boy. He will not remember being stretched and pushed and forced out into the world. There will be no psychic pain lingering in him forever because Briseis didn’t reach for him right away when the cold hard ground was pressing up against his tender new body.
His first memory of her will be of tears.
His eyes, the clear earnest things she stares into before the tears start to fall are blue. Not the blue of the creature in the forest but bright and dark all at once, like the rich navy of his soft and slowly drying infant curls. The boy watches his mother shed her tears and marvels at her large beautiful face and shining brown eyes. Every bump of her muzzle and caress to clean his fresh little hide tells him what love is and though he is small and quavering (he has worked hard to get strong in his dark warm world but moving around out here is harder, foreign) he watches her every move with drunken devotion. She clutches him to her breast and the first words that his mother gives him are of affection. He should have been born expecting a cold world that could not love him or want him, but Briseis dread had not passed through the placenta to her infant, or if it had it had taught him only to be eager for her love.
When his mother rises he shakes his head a little, each minute that passes is full of surprises for the child. She bumps his hip and he shifts trying to get his back legs beneath him. It’s an action that only leaves him leaning on his opposite side. A squeak of confusion accompanies his next attempt, but he is silent for the next after that and the grullo boy (drying, growing lighter in color) finds his feet in a weaving stumbling way. He reaches for the mother then, hopeful, his little blue muzzle angling up toward her midnight one. He makes a small meaningless sound and stumbles close to Briseis, pressing into her side. He finds his way to nurse, and when he has finished leaves a trail of milky slobber along her side as he traces his way back to her face and warm eyes. The boy smiles at his mother, it is her smile, it must be, and he wears it well.
His first memory of her will be of tears.
His eyes, the clear earnest things she stares into before the tears start to fall are blue. Not the blue of the creature in the forest but bright and dark all at once, like the rich navy of his soft and slowly drying infant curls. The boy watches his mother shed her tears and marvels at her large beautiful face and shining brown eyes. Every bump of her muzzle and caress to clean his fresh little hide tells him what love is and though he is small and quavering (he has worked hard to get strong in his dark warm world but moving around out here is harder, foreign) he watches her every move with drunken devotion. She clutches him to her breast and the first words that his mother gives him are of affection. He should have been born expecting a cold world that could not love him or want him, but Briseis dread had not passed through the placenta to her infant, or if it had it had taught him only to be eager for her love.
When his mother rises he shakes his head a little, each minute that passes is full of surprises for the child. She bumps his hip and he shifts trying to get his back legs beneath him. It’s an action that only leaves him leaning on his opposite side. A squeak of confusion accompanies his next attempt, but he is silent for the next after that and the grullo boy (drying, growing lighter in color) finds his feet in a weaving stumbling way. He reaches for the mother then, hopeful, his little blue muzzle angling up toward her midnight one. He makes a small meaningless sound and stumbles close to Briseis, pressing into her side. He finds his way to nurse, and when he has finished leaves a trail of milky slobber along her side as he traces his way back to her face and warm eyes. The boy smiles at his mother, it is her smile, it must be, and he wears it well.
Misfit
i wouldn't love me neither
@[Briseis] I'm too lazy to edit.
