i am the violence in the pouring rain
i am a hurricaneIt has been a relatively easy pregnancy. Perhaps, simply, because Beqanna has been quiet as of late. She should be upset by this, perhaps. The Chamber and the Valley have seen to it that Beqanna has a reason to be antsy. But really, she is perfectly fine with it all. The calm before the storm. Everyone needs that time. Time to prepare. Time to give birth. Whatever the case may be.
She disappears into the pine trees, knowing the signs this time better than she did with Erebor. It takes less time the second time around as well, and it isn’t so terribly long before there’s a black and white girl laying on the ground. Straia smiles, because it is impossible not to see how perfectly intertwined Weed and her are in the girl’s coloring.
This girl, unlike Erebor, doesn’t exist for a purpose. She exists simply because her parents wanted one another, and they both knew the result. No, it is not quite love. It’s something different, stronger, fiercer than love that brought this girl into the world. It is all together more beautiful, if you ask the Raven Queen.
She sits up and begins licking the girl clean, sending a raven off to find Weed, should he want to come meet his daughter. Should he not be too engrossed in causing chaos that he can slip away for a moment. She doesn’t expect that he’ll necessarily be free. But still, she should alert him. It seems like the appropriate thing to do.
The girl blinks, stirring on the ground though not getting up yet. “Weaver,” Straia says, and the girl turns at the sound. “I think we’ll call you Weaver.” No one else would remember Straia’s mother, but Straia did. Always would. And in this tiny, quiet way, she would live on.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
