IT'S NOT POWER THAT MAKES YOU THE STRONGEST
The part of her that still believes strongly in the loyalty and the feudal system she grew up in tells her that she should be giving birth in Tephra – it’s supposed to be her home, in a way. But even after giving up the lion’s share of the immense power that had thrummed through her veins after she returned from death, she has found that a not inconsiderable amount of magic still resides within her, and it has changed some of her feelings towards the world. So even though she’s standing knee-deep in her magic waterfall in Tephra, when the labor pains start, her heart tugs unmistakably in another direction, and she closes her eyes and opens them again in the familiar flowered fields of another place.
Of home.
The little grulla mare walks the fields for a few hours, uncomfortable but not yet ready, contemplating the brief tryst she’d had with the curious – and attractive – stallion who’d fathered the children she carries. Briefly she toys with the idea of not calling for him – there is no emotional attachment there that makes her want to share this messy event like she had with her two previous lovers – but she knows that isn’t fair. He’d been enthusiastic, excited when she’d learned she was pregnant. So even as she finds a sheltered place to lie down, the spring grass high around her, she sends a little mental thread of magic to him, tagged with her location to follow, and gives in to nature.
There are two fillies – this she already knew, being intimately familiar with the pace of their heartbeats and the brush of their growing minds against hers. But her heart swells with love as she learns of their physical bodies – the perfect dark gray of their coats to match hers, but bracketed in their sire’s gold and stars. Much different than the plain coats of her three sons, all of whom were born in a mostly traitless world to a traitless mother; not more beautiful than her sons, but beauty to match the wild new world they’ve been born into.
Nikkai hesitates over names, over the legacy her children and children’s children have created from her own sons down to the descendants she has found here – Noah and Noma, Ryan – but discards them. They are cousins of these others, but distantly, and those ties perhaps will not bind them the way they once did. She has no doubt that they will be welcomed into the family fold amongst the others, but they are no longer the royal line of a Kingdom that has ceased to exist. “Revelrie,” she touches the first filly, the name rolling off of her tongue as if gifted from elsewhere. The girl herself, perhaps, or the mind of their sire. “Sylvanas,” she greets the other, and hums a few lines of the lullaby of the Pampas that pulses under their bodies as it has for a hundred years. “Hello,”
Of home.
The little grulla mare walks the fields for a few hours, uncomfortable but not yet ready, contemplating the brief tryst she’d had with the curious – and attractive – stallion who’d fathered the children she carries. Briefly she toys with the idea of not calling for him – there is no emotional attachment there that makes her want to share this messy event like she had with her two previous lovers – but she knows that isn’t fair. He’d been enthusiastic, excited when she’d learned she was pregnant. So even as she finds a sheltered place to lie down, the spring grass high around her, she sends a little mental thread of magic to him, tagged with her location to follow, and gives in to nature.
There are two fillies – this she already knew, being intimately familiar with the pace of their heartbeats and the brush of their growing minds against hers. But her heart swells with love as she learns of their physical bodies – the perfect dark gray of their coats to match hers, but bracketed in their sire’s gold and stars. Much different than the plain coats of her three sons, all of whom were born in a mostly traitless world to a traitless mother; not more beautiful than her sons, but beauty to match the wild new world they’ve been born into.
Nikkai hesitates over names, over the legacy her children and children’s children have created from her own sons down to the descendants she has found here – Noah and Noma, Ryan – but discards them. They are cousins of these others, but distantly, and those ties perhaps will not bind them the way they once did. She has no doubt that they will be welcomed into the family fold amongst the others, but they are no longer the royal line of a Kingdom that has ceased to exist. “Revelrie,” she touches the first filly, the name rolling off of her tongue as if gifted from elsewhere. The girl herself, perhaps, or the mind of their sire. “Sylvanas,” she greets the other, and hums a few lines of the lullaby of the Pampas that pulses under their bodies as it has for a hundred years. “Hello,”
Nikkai
@[jenger] @[Jassal]