12-17-2019, 10:26 AM
Pteron hadn't been sure what to expect of their child. It would probably be winged, he'd assumed, with tobiano markings and coloring that reflected some blend of their blues and golds. He'd tried not to think of it much at all, if he is honest with himself. There had been brief moments, when he'd wondered if the child would inherit his invisibility or his regenerative healing. He'd imagined teaching a small, nondescript figure how to appear and disappear at will just like his father had taught him.
But there had been other moments, moments when he imagined a child with its mother's sharp tongue and sharper teeth, who was impulsive and cruel and impossible to love. How could he raise such a child?
He's managed to offend Reia, an unfortunately common occurrence, and Pteron looks over at her. His wife looks tired, even more than she does irritated, and he is reminded of the literal labor she has just been through. Pitying her is a frequent emotion, but as he meets her blue gaze and then looks back at their child, that sensation is interspersed with the soft glow of pride.
Yes, this perfect winged child is his, but it is also Reia's. She is flawed, but she is as responsible for the creation of this small and impeccable life as he is.
Adarra, she has named her, and Pteron stretches out his muzzle to gentle ruffle her mane, and to press a kiss to her poll when she nuzzle in against him. "Adarra," he repeats affectionately, still smiling from her attempt to puzzle out his name.
There is a warm glow of contentment in his chest, and though it is entirely novel and unlike anything else he's known, it is also somehow better. He sighs happily, inhaling the sour-sweet smell of his newborn child, and when Reia comes closer Pteron does not immediately flinch away. He doesn't lean into her either, or attempt to keep her close when she pulls away, but even the stillness is a new addition to thier relationship.
"Maybe she's strong enough to be two children," Pteron muses. "My mother said wings feel like an extra set of legs in the womb."
@[Reia]
But there had been other moments, moments when he imagined a child with its mother's sharp tongue and sharper teeth, who was impulsive and cruel and impossible to love. How could he raise such a child?
He's managed to offend Reia, an unfortunately common occurrence, and Pteron looks over at her. His wife looks tired, even more than she does irritated, and he is reminded of the literal labor she has just been through. Pitying her is a frequent emotion, but as he meets her blue gaze and then looks back at their child, that sensation is interspersed with the soft glow of pride.
Yes, this perfect winged child is his, but it is also Reia's. She is flawed, but she is as responsible for the creation of this small and impeccable life as he is.
Adarra, she has named her, and Pteron stretches out his muzzle to gentle ruffle her mane, and to press a kiss to her poll when she nuzzle in against him. "Adarra," he repeats affectionately, still smiling from her attempt to puzzle out his name.
There is a warm glow of contentment in his chest, and though it is entirely novel and unlike anything else he's known, it is also somehow better. He sighs happily, inhaling the sour-sweet smell of his newborn child, and when Reia comes closer Pteron does not immediately flinch away. He doesn't lean into her either, or attempt to keep her close when she pulls away, but even the stillness is a new addition to thier relationship.
"Maybe she's strong enough to be two children," Pteron muses. "My mother said wings feel like an extra set of legs in the womb."
@[Reia]