hanging from the tallest tree; birth, any

[Reuen]

I was confused, as confused as the birds as they realised there eggs had been stolen by greedy predators. As heartbroken as the willow as it weeps it leaves in autumn. My body quivered, against the cold, against the feelings that surged through me with searing hot rivulets. A spike here, right through my healing ribcage. My lungs expelled, attempting to gasp for a lungful of air, but failed and I stumbled to my knees, just short of the vast tree in the heart of the Gates. I scuffed them against there ground, mud marred my chocolate frame as I rolled to my side, my swollen barrel rising and falling, rising and falling. What was happening? Was I dying? Was this what those dreams were warning me about? the darkness that slipped my mind, the shadows encasing me in dark, dark, darkness. Was it predicting that my heart would give out, right here, my lungs would just… stop. The thought felt like an arrow, slipping from my ind and aiming straight for my torn and broken little heart. It struck it’s mark, right then and I was reminded by the iron steed; his steely body cold, like winter against me. the uncomfortable pain that shot through me, another reminder roof what had happened. I had been deflowered, taken like some broken little thing and tossed aside. Filled with a growing life. Oh, I had been so foolish, too broken to even see that this would be the end result. I quivered, my eyes wide, the threat of tears a promise as the hot saline trickled from the corners and fell down my cheeks. I called, I called multiple times. I was frightened, far more frightened of this than of the shadows that followed me at night, than the monster that lurked inside of my head. I was far more scared of the pain on the inside, to not notice that my thrashing at opened old wounds. Primarily the large strip along my ribcage. It blossomed like a red rose, the crimson burgundy against my brown coat. My voice felt strained, captive in my throat and wilful in it’s escape. Even to my own ears, it sounded like a death call. A vulture overhead, cawing for friends to come and enjoy the meal. I pushed my head into the spring grass, thrashing my hinds, kicking at the darkness that I felt riding my heels. Oh. they were after the product inside of me. The thing, the life. they wanted it as much as they wanted me. It broke me, as much as the pain. The feeling of regret, the feeling of hopelessness. I called again, a ragged cry, piercing and wrought. My hinds quivered, pulsed against the surge as the life slipped from me, drained my eyes, my heart raging, threatening to leap from it’s ribbed cage. Oh, the pain, the pain was far more than the blood, than the tearing and shredding of flesh. I felt like my insides were fire, and I was burning alive. the pain then ceased, but not without one final whinny, that very cry had spurred the life along and it slipped from me with ease, falling in a puddle of claret and mess. I lay my head, against the cool ground. My body foamy white with sweat, my lungs heaving with breath. It took me minutes to turn my head and see the bundle that lay motionless. My hollow grey eyes steeled themselves, as I pulled my weary frame to it’s feet. Lowering my muzzle I pressed it against the small form. Recoiling back in the horror of watching as it’s side rose and fell, ever so slowly. I took a few steps back and watched as the child shifted, shallow breaths stolen, it’s little heart quivering beneath it’s new flesh. I stepped back even further, lowered my muzzle to the ground. I was a mess of blood tendrils, a newly bleeding side and sweat marred me. the cold wind took my tresses and coiled them about my face. My eyes met the bundle and I watched, shivering, ’I.. I broke you. Reuen ruined again…’ Reuen the little ruined girl resident of the gates

OOC: Foalies are due tomorrow, but I am so knackered and have more stuff to do tomorrow, and seeing as how I've written up all my birthing posts, might as well post them all tonight. =]

[Tioga]

Mother was gone, off attending to some sort of alliance business. I was pouty if I am perfectly honest with myself, I had wanted to be a soldier, to be a fighter. Too young I was told, wait until you’re older. I didn’t want to wait, I wanted to be grown, to be more than some feeble child no one took seriously. I was capable I thought, capable of learning the ropes, of training my muscles and my mind. I stomp through the meadows, the bright green shoots tickling at my stilts, though they cannot bring a smile to my face.

A break in the air reaches my ringing ears, though it is muffled I manage to know the sound. It was Reuen’s cry, I could know no different, the agonized tones a sullen and familiar tune. I knew I had to see what was the matter, there was really no telling with the slow minded mare, trouble tended to find her. My pace is quick, sure footed for a youngling, picking my way through the grasses and budding flowers. She flounders, a mess of sweat and blood, red running down her bodice. She was always covered in blood wasn’t she? The metallic scent reaching my nose, and a scrunch my maw at the invasiveness of it.

I am a silent watcher, a witness to what some called the ‘miracle of life.’ It was a mess, fluids and insides leaked about the pristine terra, a horrific Christmas scene. Birds came then, drawn to the pool of life that beseeched the earth, their calls made me on edge. I wouldn’t let them have the child, rearing with a shriek at the sky, a warning of what was to come should the scavengers descend. Reuen looks as confused as she ever was, peering down at the child uttering how she has broken it. ”Reuen,”I find my words gently calling to her, “you have to clean it Reuen.” I press, oddly somehow one tends to become the adult, mimicry of words my mother has spoken.

Tentatively I approach, unsure of how welcome I am to such a personal experience. ”It’s not broken, it’s just dirty, he’s just dirty.” I correct myself, my copper gaze studying the remnants of birth.

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[Reuen]

I stare at the blob of life and fur, hollow eyes filling with a glaze of tears. I stayed so silent, so motionless, eyes just attuned upon the small body strewn on the ground. He gasps, gasps with silent screams, lungs like iron, folding in on himself. I continue to stare, remembering how to taste of metal, the kiss of iron had felt. I shivered with the memory, the ache in my bones very raw, and very real.

I hear full thuds, and an ear finds the source. One eye casts a quick glimpse and finds Tioga. The very girl I had seen in this very predicament last spring. I whuffled, my nostrils sharply inhaling the claret and life birth on the air. She tells me to clean him. Him, the little bundle of wet life, a shell of blood and goo, he was a child. He was my child. As if something clicked into place, I nod, bobbing my head like the avian friends do, over and over again. But doing this, I bend my head low. Teeth tearing, pulling at the shell do that the boy can breathe.

And breathe he does. His small gasps make my eyes widen, my body tremble. Not too soon he is wobbling and teetering on spindly pins. Amber eyes searching the new world. He looks up at me and I lower my head, snorting, taking w few steps back.

'A child... A boy.' the words feel stale in my mouth. I turn to Tioga and try and recall what Wichita had done. I shook my head, I was still young, still naive with this sort of thing, but as the small boy butts his head against my leg I recoil, only slightly, dipping my scarred muzzle to his head. He's warm, wet and alive. 'Kernick.' The name slips from my lips, as I nuzzle his forehead. The instinct eventually kicking in, my salmon tongue finds his neck, his shoikder, but before long he is teetering behind me and lipping at my legs. My Hinds dance a bit, to the left, and to the right, his gummy teeth finding the sustenance in moments. And in those moments I finally realise what this has meant.

'I'm a mother. '

[Tioga]

I take relief in her understanding, able to comprehend the dire need to act. The colt protests for air against the birth film, and my copper eyes watch silently as she disposes of it. Ivories tear at the slick material, and I can’t look away, nor do I want to. A pitch stained colt rises on awkward legs, its crown tilting towards its mother. His amber eyes stir something in me, I don’t know why, nor what it means.

Reuen finds my gaze, I return it with unyielding copper gems. A simple nod of my head is my only form of encouragement, I find myself still frozen in place. This was all new to me, I had heard of what occurred at birth, but I had never witnessed it for myself.  My dusky tresses float as I shake myself from this trance, leaning my muzzle out to my friend. I should comfort her I think, let her know she was doing well, that everything seemed to be as it should. “Yes Reuen, a little colt, how nice.” I smile, but it is a small lackluster expression.

She presses a name to the boy, Kernick. As decent as any name, I roll it around in my head, saving it for later. It wasn’t long before the child found the warmth of his mother’s milk, slipping under the mares belly without coaxing. He flails on unsteady stalks, and I flinch for just a moment, thinking he would soon meet the earth again. “Kernick,” I nod in agreement, sidling inches closer to the pair. Were they always so smart? Did they all so easily find their way with such little knowledge or life experience? Had she?

The silver-touched black female whispers words once more, acknowledging her new role in life. A surprise it still seemed to her, had she not expected as much? So lost in an unkind world, I lip at her gently, standing close now against her frame. It was quiet with Reuen, in her world, and it was becoming quiet in my world. I found solace in the shared silences of the simple girl.

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