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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [open]  baking with love
    #1











    It had been an idea stirring in the back of her mind for a while - and on this warm autumn morning Isilya decides to try it. Although there’s some nerves, she’s full of the confidence of a lifetime spent perfecting her magic.

    If she could live as a tree for years-lost, could a foal?

    She thinks of Toivo when he was young, and Astra and crowns, and feels her heart swell with love as she finds her way to a rainbow eucalyptus tree. There are no flower-crafted birds dancing around her today, and the flowers adorning her vines are a simple white aster. All around Beqanna, couples are creating foals that will arrive in the spring and it aids her in focusing her magic. It will take until spring, she thinks, to fully do what she wants to try. It will be taxing, she’ll be tired, but there’s such a rush of excitement too.

    Her golden muzzle touches gently to the striped bark of this magnificent tree and her gold-and-green eyes close as she pushes out with that excitement, with the love, and with as much of herself as she can give. She asks this tree to grow something other than itself through the warm Tephran winter, begins to craft it into something new.

    It is late afternoon before Isilya is satisfied with the first day’s work. The tree itself has not changed externally except for a faint green glow. She smiles softly at it, pressing her muzzle again to it fleetingly in a brief kiss, before stepping back. Her head feels woozy and light from this new way of using her magic, but her eyes dance with delight.

    In the spring, she's going to be a mother.


    soft and sweet

    art by azagus


    open to any! Isilya just starting the process of baking baby Grove <3
    #2
    The first thing he remembers is the warmth.  It had been faint at first, but everyday it grew in brightness and intensity.  Always, it remained soft and comforting, like looking at the sunglow from behind the safety of closed eyelids.  Safe.  That was the perfect word to describe it, he thought, like all the bad things in Beqanna would never be able to get to him.

    The second thing he remembers is the awareness.  The steady urgings of warmth roused him a little more with each passing day, bringing forward a slumbering consciousness.  Until the day the walls that protected him felt a little closer than before when he moved his leg even just the tiniest bit.  It was getting too snug in his little, wooden cacoon made in the heart of his guardian tree.

    Spring had come, and so had the day for him to meet the waiting world.

    The sentient tree practically vibrated in anticipation as unearthed roots and curling vines slowly parted, exposing him from the safety of his tangled nest.  His eyes had already opened while the last of the roots had cleared, and when he was confident that no more movement would come from the guardian tree for the time being, he hesitantly poked his leafy-maned head out of the nursery.  

    It was bright and chaotic out there, and his senses struggled to make heads or tails of the colors and noises and scents that were happening all around him.  Overwhelmed, it was all he could do to stay put and not want to scuttle backwards, deeper into the dark and quiet root-shelter to try and evade it all.   But it was the sudden buzzing of something unknown and terrifyingly nearby that finally tipped the scales of panic.  Uncertain of what exactly he ought to do, he froze, and then attempted to buzz back at the thing, hoping that whatever he was communicating to it was nice enough.


    @[Isilya]
    #3











    Spring has come and Isilya is exhausted from what she’s been doing, but there’s a current of excitement. She misses her bird friends, and has even avoided changing out her flowers, just to put all of her energy into this… project.

    It will be worth it, she knows, to finally meet her child.

    She feels it when things begin to change, when they end. And the excitement completely takes over from her weariness. She stands before the tree, feeding it more magic to do what it can, what it will. With wide eyes already prickling with tears of joy, she watches as the roots unfurl and there, nestled peacefully, is a colt. The most beautiful colt she’s ever seen.

    He does not emerge immediately, and folds back away from the brightness of the world. She attempts to sway some of the leaves to block out the sunlight and make the transition a little easier. Some shift but, unfortunately, she just doesn’t have enough magical juice to help overly much. When he buzzes, a soft smile lights up her eyes and she can, at least, help with the little creature bothering him.

    With a gentle breeze, Isilya encourages the bee that frightened her son (her son!!) away to another flower. “Hello, Grove.” The name is carried on a gentle, sweet voice and she takes a small step forward - head lowered. “I’m your mom.” Her voice cracks on that last word and her smile is radiant. She does not encourage him to crawl out of the safety of his bed - he will come out when he is ready. And when he is, she will be here for him.


    soft and sweet

    art by azagus


    @[Grove]
    #4
    The leaves sway gently, and his attention drifts towards their movement and away from the stange buzzy sound that made a paralyzing fear snake through him.  Hypnotic, moving this way and that, his eyes begin to feel heavy as he forgets about the monster outside his den, and a quiet yawn escapes him.  Would it be such a bad idea to just fall back asleep again?  Maybe the thing would be gone by the time he woke up again.  And was perfectly quiet - an opportune time to drift off.

    Wait...quiet?  The buzzing?  What happened to it?

    Curious, his ears perk up and his eyes go wide at the realization that the odd sound had stopped completely.  And then a voice came, soft and lovely and warm.  ”Hello, Grove...I’m your mom.”  Hey, he knew that voice!  It was the same one that he had heard in his dreams, the same one that told him about the nice things and the good things and the promising things.  The things that made him feel good and loved.

    And home.

    Suddenly filled to the brim with electrifying boldness, he ventured out of the root-woven nest, wanting to see the source of all the Good with his very own eyes. “M-,” he stammered, fumbling clumsily over his first spoken word.  

    She waited nearby, closely but not too close, with the kindest most reassuring and loving expression he’d probably ever see in his lifetime.  “Mom?”, he said quietly, his head tilting sideways, wondering if he had said the funny word right.  It crosses his mind, that getting closer to her might be a good idea, and was something that he desperately wanted to do, but his legs felt a little too shaky, as if the slightest breeze might topple him over.  

    And so instead, he asks another question, the only one that came to mind right now, “Hello Grove?”

    @[Isilya]
    #5











    Isilya watches, her exhaustion forgotten, as Grove takes his first steps into the world and out of the woven nest of the tree. Later, once he has outgrown it and she has the strength, she’ll return the tree to its original shape. But for now, she thinks, if he wants the option of returning there it will be available for him.

    The feeling that courses through Isilya upon hearing her son’s voice for the very first time is unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She thought she knew joy, even thought she knew love, but what is radiating out from her right now overshadows absolutely everything else.

    She steps forward carefully, her movements slow. Isilya wants to wrap him into a hug and never let him go but she keeps herself in check - watching for any sign of discomfort so she can correct. A very soft chuckle escapes her when he repeats her greeting as a question. “That’s you, my love.” She presses her shimmering muzzle softly to his forehead and whispers “Grove” into the multicoloured hair there.

    She pulls back and tucks her head in close to indicate herself, her hazel eyes bright and dancing. “Mom.”


    soft and sweet

    art by azagus


    @[Grove]




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