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    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


    [private]  with this love like a hole, swallow my soul - Atrox
    #1
    Winter could be unforgiving in Hyaline, with much of the region carpeted in snow and the frigid winds whistling between the mountain peaks. She usually did not mind the harshness of it; Ryatah has never been one to complain, and she took a secret delight in curling close to Atrox for warmth so that she might hear him sigh irritably and yet not move away.

    There was still a part of her that did not entirely believe that he was hers, though it was overridden by the part of her that never had any doubt. It was strange and beautiful to belong to someone again, and even still, in a way that she does not think she has ever belonged to anyone. Because Atrox is somehow everything hard and unyielding, with parts of him that she still not entirely sure she will ever see. 

    And still – still – he is hers.

    She is away from him tonight, though she would not be surprised if he is at least nearby. She had hoped that the twins – and she knew it was twins, as sure as she knew anything – would wait until spring, but she had known early this morning that that would not be the case. Now, she clenches her jaw against the pain that courses through her, her skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight. 

    She is quiet, or as quiet as she can manage, even when the first – a girl – is born. She knows that she is not supposed to be here. She knows that Breach's intention for this kingdom was to turn it into a home of shifters, something Ryatah was not. She kept mostly to the part of Hyaline that she and Atrox had carved out for themselves, but it did not keep her from being afraid of attracting needless attention.

    There is hardly time to tend to the filly, hardly a moment for her to gently clean her face and press her nose into her damp neck, when she is forced to curl back into the unforgiving pain.

    She is breathless and trembling in the winter cold, pulling the newborn colt to her chest, alongside his sister. She cannot see them, but she knows they are perfect. She knows it in the way her chest swells and tightens, in the way her heart flutters in her throat when she feels them shifting and stirring. She knows they are perfect because they are theirs, and she had almost forgotten what it was like to have children born of a love that she did not have to be afraid of. “Will you tell me what they look like?” She whispers when she feels him next to her, reaching from her place on the ground to touch her nose to his leg. If there is sorrow at the idea that she even has to ask this, that she cannot see for herself what they look like, it does not show. There are some things too pure for even that kind of sorrow to touch.
    R y A t A h
    and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
    but you would still miss me in your bones


    #2

    hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

    Atrox had never paid particular mind to the changing of the seasons. For the most part, he regulated them to the back of his mind—pushing them to the side and ignoring them entirely. Still, he was not immune to the knowledge that time was indeed passing. The winter grew colder, the weather becoming harsher. That such time passed and the angel had not yet left him does not elude him either, but this is a truth that he is most comfortable with when he is not looking too closely at it—not comfortable yet with its weight.

    In such ignorance though, there was always the knowledge that seasons changing has meaning.

    He cannot ignore the curve of her belly forever.

    So when she leaves him tonight, peeling off into the shadows, there is a part of him that knows—and then a part of him that is surprised that he does. He had never paid much mind to the beginning of life. It had never been of much consequence to him, after all, but he finds that he pays mind to it now. Watching with a lazy eye as she grows, tracking the days and watching as her symptoms show in slight, mild ways.

    So he is not surprised when she leaves.

    And she is right that he is nearby.

    He stalks the area near her, considering the hunt, but leaving the two souls standing guard. He does not leave to sink his teeth into the throat of innocent prey and when one of the souls comes to find him, it is with enough urgency on its lifeless face that Atrox knows that the time has finally come.

    He shifts from cat to horse and makes his way toward her, reaching down to brush scarred, black velvet lips across the glowing white of her skin. There is a twisting within him at the question, and the meaning behind it, but such things do not show on the sharp edges of his face. Instead, he just whispers. “Like us,” he says with a laugh that is never far from him, “but not.” They do not have the darkness within her yet or the scars he carries. “The girl is white, like you, with hints of gold. The other black with the same gold.”

    It feels fitting that they mirror one another so.

    ATROX | THE PANTHER KING
    [Image: atrox.png]

    now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes

    #3
    There is a rush of warmth that floods her veins at the feel of his lips against her skin, because even after all of this time any kind of softness from him still catches her off guard. She was still mostly used to being alone – she had done this alone countless times, certainly far more times than anyone had ever been with her. It was the price she paid for placing her affections in all of the wrong places, but Atrox had a way of reminding her – in that rough, subtle way of his –  that for once, she got it right. She did not have to ask for him to be here; he just was.

    To hear him say that the twins are like the both of them brings with it another rush of emotion, the kind that momentarily steals the breath from her lungs and makes her heart clench in an achingly elated way. “So they’re perfect, then,” she says with a quiet laugh that is the gentler echo of his, touching both twins once more.

    Almost involuntarily her healing spreads through her, erasing the pain that had lingered and relieving some of the exhaustion. She stands, with dirt that still mars her porcelain skin and debris clinging to the tangled strands of her mane –  such a contrast when paired with the halo above her head and the glow that radiated from her. The most imperfect angel, always, but at this moment, she does not seem to notice. She can hear the twins shifting and stirring, and she lowers her head to touch the colt as he fights to get his legs beneath him.

    They are the perfect blend of the two of them, he says, and she has just begun to wonder if they will be angels or panthers, too, when a thought storms, unbidden and uninvited, into her moment of peace.

    Worry suddenly fills her, cold and choking, and she presses her nose into his neck.  “What if they aren’t shifters?” She asks in a voice that is hardly above a whisper, and she can feel the panic already begin to rise up in her chest.
    R y A t A h
    and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
    but you would still miss me in your bones


    #4

    hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

    He is not used to feeling himself grow soft. Unaccustomed to the feeling, but he does not shy away from it—doesn’t try to shove away the warmth that sparks in his ribs at the idea of having a family again. One that is not marred with war or famine, ripped apart between two kingdoms, bent to the will of others.

    Atrox had never thought he was anything outside of the Chamber.

    He is pleasantly surprised to find little weight to the thought.

    So he watches with a bemused expression as she heals herself, wiping away the physical pains of labor, as though it had never happened at all. He leans against her for a moment, his scarred chest twinging as she touches the children and he looks on with a lightly detached look, even though is sharp eyes scrutinize.

    It’s then that she voices the very question he had been thinking. He rolls his shoulder. “I’m not sure,” he answers, reaching to touch her neck. “I had to bargain to keep you here.” They could just go find another home, he knows, but he has grown accustomed to the Hyaline mountains. Grown comfortable with the ridges and the peaks—the climate that suited him nearly as well as the Chamber had in his prime.

    He was not keen on the idea of resettling.

    Even less keen on the idea of having to do it to abide by someone else’s laws.

    ATROX | THE PANTHER KING
    [Image: atrox.png]

    now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes

    #5
    It’s impossible to not reach over and touch him again at the feel of his weight against her. Her head lowers as she steps to rest against his chest, not minding the feel of his scar against her skin or the fact that the only heartbeat she can feel is her own. For all of his harshness she has never known another to sacrifice the few things that he cared about the way  that he has– the Chamber, Twinge, and Magnus. It stirs something similar to guilt inside of her, afraid that maybe she didn’t deserve the happiness of a family – their family – at the expense of him losing everything else.

    Accompanied by the sudden realization that their children likely aren’t going to be allowed to be here, much in the same way she is not supposed to be, she can feel the familiar darkness crawling back across the light she had previously felt in her chest. He says he had to bargain to keep her here, and though she had already known that, hearing it again seems to twist the sharpness in her ribs a little deeper. “I know,” she says quietly, and she fights to keep the apology that she longs to say from slipping out; to apologize for causing an issue when there didn’t need to be one.

    As much as they belonged to each other, she would never be able to fully shake the feeling that he would prefer being alone.

    Her nose touches the top of the filly’s mane,  exhaling a soft breath before sweeping down her small cheek. “I was thinking of naming her Maea,” there is a slight hesitancy to her voice, like she is still expecting him to tell her that he does not care what she names them, or for him to leave. For some reason that she cannot possibly grasp she is reminded of when Noel had been born, of how furious Ashhal had been at the entire situation, even though this was nothing even remotely similar. “And Astin for the boy,” she continues, soft-spoken but almost rushed, before falling into a strange, almost tense silence.
    R y A t A h
    and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
    but you would still miss me in your bones


    #6

    hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

    Something sharp flashes across his features at her “I know,” something rippling beneath the surface as he focuses on her face again—and it’s out of habit more than anything that he pulls it from his expression as quickly as he does. She cannot study it, he knows. Cannot pick apart the details that make up his weathered face to find the truth of it underneath, but she did not need her eyesight to do that, truly. She had always been particularly adept at stepping beneath the surface of him and finding the core of him.

    Just as he was able to pick up on the spare threads of guilt that bury in the softness of her voice.

    He doesn’t comment on it though. Doesn’t ask her to elaborate on what she feels more than what he is already able to discern. If she wanted to share with him, she would—and until then, he would allow her to have her privacy. Keeping whatever fears and worries that she may foster in the depths of her mind.

    Instead he watches her touch the children, name them, and he thinks of them for a moment. He had never been truly involved in this part of childbearing (never involved in any of it, to be honest), so he is not sure that is opinion holds much weight. Not certain that he should be given the choice to weigh in on what they would be called for the rest of their lives, but still thinks about it—ponders both.

    After a minute has passed, he nudges her neck.

    “I like them,” he grins a little, that sardonic curl of his lip. “I prefer the names of today far more than what they had been in my youth.” He tips his head back slightly, exhaling in nostalgia as he thinks about how grateful he is that his mother had given him something so simple. The only gift that she had given him before he had taken life from her, but such a conversation feels heavy for the moment.

    “My father was named Mass Murderer,” he comments with a laugh. “Maea and Astin is better.”

    He brings his scarred head down quickly when he hears the rustling, the padding of feet.

    Without thinking, he shifts into a panther and leaps forward before the children, a growl forming low and deep in his throat—and when it is the familiar form of Breach’s tiger, the growl does not stop.

    ATROX | THE PANTHER KING
    [Image: atrox.png]

    now be defiant, the lion, give them the fight that will open their eyes

    #7
    BREACH

    I'd bare you my heart, if I knew that it still was there
    I'm too nervous to look, too afraid to close the book

    The pack is still relatively new.

    A concept that her mother had dreamt of but whose details are not yet fully formed. It was not as though Sochi had given her detailed instructions on how to handle the nuances of the pack and it was not as though she had not already deviated from the loose structure that Sochi had managed to tell her.

    A pack that formed and moved from land to land, Sochi had said.

    Instead, Breach had taken over Hyaline and planted them here.

    Only shifters but Breach had allowed Ryatah to stay. No dragons but she had fallen in love with Yadigar's frozen draconic heart. She seemed incapable of keeping the rules that she herself was meant to enforce.

    And now this?

    What was she to do with children?

    She knew it would happen eventually, but the implications were just now dawning on her. Not every child of shifters would become a shifter. If she was to allow them all, the pack would be overrun in just a few seasons and then what was the point of the pack at all? Would she dilute her mother’s dream further?

    Guilt snaps at her. Tears at her. Bites into the core of her as she stumbles upon the family, the children barely haven taken their first breath. She would have moved on had Atrox not heard her, but when she hears him leap forward, she knows that she had not been quick enough, not quite enough.

    And she steps forward, washing away the apology that already colors her expression.

    (She had to be strong, she thinks. She had to be steady.)

    Clear-eyed, she looks toward the children behind Atrox and the angelic woman who rests near them. “Congratulations,” she says coolly, sitting back on her haunches, her tail flicking.

    And when she meets Atrox’s eyes, and sees the question reflected back at her, she nods.

    “Six months,” she finally answers. “I can give you six months to see if they are shifters or not.”

    It felt fair, she thought.

    “If they aren’t. they’ll need to leave.”

    so take all the wind from my lungs if you're out of air
    just deliver me truth, deliver me you

    #8
    He knows her better than most, and for that she is grateful. That he can pick up on the almost unreadable worry and tension in her voice, but does not ask her to speak of it. She has never been very good with words. She does not know how to turn the storm of emotions that have locked themselves inside of her chest and mind into words, does not know how to shape them into something that he, or anyone, would ever understand.

    And she knows, too, that most of her worries are self-made.
    If he didn’t want to be here, he simply wouldn’t be.
    If he didn’t want her to stay, he would have made that clear.

    She could tell herself that over and over, but believing it was another thing entirely.
    For so many years she had learned to be content with what she was given, had become accustomed to being an afterthought, that it still felt strange to be wanted in any capacity.

    She can hear the smile in his voice though, and the way he touches her neck is enough to abate her worry, at least for now. There is a smile on her lips too, faint though it was, when she reaches to pull at a tangled strand of his mane and say, “I’m glad you weren’t named Mass Murderer Jr.”

    The sound of someone approaching distracts her, and just as Atrox shifts and leaps forward, she instinctively steps just behind him, in front of the twins still curled on the ground. She lowers her head, touching her nose gently to their cheeks, her voice a soft, nearly inaudible murmur below the growling of the panther and the tiger. Her heart catches when she realizes that it’s Breach, and then flinches at what she says. Six months. That didn’t seem like very long, but she knew that it was more than fair, since they should not be here at all – especially her.

    Her sightless gaze turns to Breach, and as was her nature there was no malice to her tone when she says quietly, “Understood.” But there is a clench to her jaw, a rigidness to the muscles of her neck and back when she turns to touch the colt that now nuzzled against her chest.

    Perhaps fighting to stay had been a mistake, but along with the rest of her worries, she buries the thought away.
    R y A t A h
    and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
    but you would still miss me in your bones






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