-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
In her daughter she sees the future. Untold stories yet to come, growth and love, anger and disappointment. They scatter across the vision of her mind like wanton stars, each one twinkling in hopes of soon connecting to another so that the constellation of her life might be completed before her death. What should she label this new astrological sign, then? How could she harness such a being with a word, or phrase?
Canaan’s gentle touches of affection draw her out of reverie, turning her eyes to the babe as she wobbles unsteadily with Jah-Lilah’s help. He loves her (she knew, she's always known) but his love is doubled here today. Soon, Circinae knows that the women’s roles will be reversed - she will be the one to watch and wait as her golden pegasus heralds a new child from those bloodred loins. “Perhaps strange, but nothing unmanageable” Is how she pictures it, stepping easily forward to call softly to her daughter. “Nyxa, here.” The emerald mare coos, lowering her own feminine head to reach out for the buttercream filly.
And with that name, the first star of Nyxa’s life burns bright and hot. Her babe’s small head turns unsteadily to look for the source of the sound; she knows it by instinct, all those months wrapped tightly in a watery bed of safety. One bare limb strikes out, followed by the others with a degree of difficulty and then she’s haphazardly stumbling towards the boon of food that waits. Circinae can hardly stifle a warm, radiant smile at the sight of it. The wolf is a mother again, (perhaps for the final time) and she cannot imagine anything more perfect than the feel of that impossibly soft nose against her hip as it dives beneath the shadow of her belly in greedy hunger.
“Clever thing, you got it right off the bat.” The shifter appraises, settling into weary comfort as the sharp sound of suckling fills the air. Nyxa’s brothers had fought against each other for the teat, a sure sign of what was to follow with them, but her daughter is aware of all the finery that she is: lace, water, and beauty. Her survival will depend on others looking out for her (what pain will Winter bring when it freezes those strange wings solid?) and learning the way of the wolf (the first silhouette of a shape within that amniotic sac had been pup.) “Thank you, my Heart.” She says with the rise of her eyes towards Jah-Lilah. “No words could express the depth of my gratitude and feeling…” She thinks, and somehow she knows the lightning mare will understand.
The day will continue, minutes stretching into hours as the three fawn and laugh over the new life. They are memories made and held dear by Circy; memories that will last an eternity and stretch out to the end of time.
Circinae
