And she cannot be blamed that the ache for children burns hot like a wildfire within. With all the kin that seek her out, all with the same want -- blessings are not all she is good for and even with a moment the needy would never realize it (she needs to kill something) -- is it any wonder her head turns. (The fact that it turned before the Motherfather chose her is irrelevant. That companionship, while far from over, has yielded only intellectual pleasure even when their advances turned amorous is maddening. She is resolute that he would grant her the perfect children, bright children. One day, perhaps...)The search, however, for the right sire has been fruitless. There is blood splattered like fading stockings on her legs, dried brown on her hooves, and leaving a shine against the black of her muzzle. Of course, at her least impeccable, she would catch the glimpse of a buck. The desire rears like an overlooked snake and she is at once in the mindset to pursue -- to hunt.
And it is a hunt. The young may be fooled in their desires of fun and games and (mythical) love, but she knows better. Not any male will do; she is not so far gone that she will settle. She wants children, yes, but intelligent children. As much as she loves her son, she has no want of that type of offspring. (It is little consolation that her daughter, who must be strong-headed, is out there somewhere.) And she will not gamble that one need. (Not yet.)
Before her the corpse is warm, no longer bleeding, but forgotten due to the rapid change of mind. Indeed she does not object when a particularly brave owlkitten takes an interest in the dead prey. In fact, she steps over the kill and in doing so relinquishes it to the litter. (Siblings more skittish than the first amble forward and she thinks they'll need the nourishment if they are motherless like it appears.)
However appearing eager would do her no good and it may do her some good to clean herself up. So few bucks she'd ever met appreciated a doe (now, mare) who could take down a fierce predator by herself. A shame really. (After this, she'd have to spend time with kin more like-minded as she.)
The water is cool against her fur though she hardly notices. The mare's mind is far off already making plans and using her knowledge to cultivate the right method. (She is not one to waltz up to a buck and demand -- nor ask -- that he give her children. And besides, she has to make sure he's not pathetically ignorant first.) It does not take long and by the time she looks decent, she's quite sure of her next move. All she has to do is make him hunt her. Which sounds a lot harder than it is.
With her affinity for shadows -- by now it's almost an intimacy -- she finds it easy to catch the buck's attention. She is a flitting butterfly who manages to elude him. One moment she is there, another she has vanished. Almost as if the air itself aids her. And she delights in this game, for as he pursues she is always one step ahead of him. (The freedom it makes her feel... She forces the buck to chase her for three sun cycles before she allows herself to be caught.)
She wakes as the glint of the sun reflects off the still crystal pond waters she's taken to lie beside. (Fun or not, it is tiresome to flee.) In the bushes nearby, she can hear the rustle as he finds her. He is hard to judge -- his movements are less under observation than one would expect of her, instead she finds herself looking into his eyes hoping to gauge his intelligence. Though she plans to test him. (She prays to the Motherfather that he will pass; she ignores her susceptibility to bright kin -- after all wasn't that what happened the first time?)
It is then she deigns to speak to him. Only for the need for children to occupy her mind. (Undoubtedly, later, she'll recall every word.) She thinks of her son -- of her two children she is the only one she knows. He is, unique is putting it nicely. He lacks any sense of direction, any sense of logic, but she loves him. Still, she would rather not have anymore children like him. It would be nice to have a conversation that made sense, even nicer to journey without the constant need to make sure the offspring did not stray. And though the memory of pregnancy makes her want to rethink it all, the desire is not dulled. Even if there doesn't seem to be any reason at all for the want. (She'll blame Travels in Circles of course, he had to go and have children of his own. If she knew Hit-and-Run had followed in his footsteps...)
As the conversation dwindles and his interest becomes more apparent, she feels hope. There is a chance that her family will grow. A smile, a rare true one, spreads as she rises from her resting place to approach him. Yes, he will do nicely. Although as time lengthens, she thinks it might not matter as much who it is... (Maybe she is a little desperate.) She gives a firm shake to remove the thought from her head. She may be all logic and plans (with a dash of insanity, especially in the right company) but now is the time for optimism. As much as she is a stranger to it.
She turns her eyes to him, instead. This buck, this is the right one. The one who will give her children. She is sure of it, a trill of instinct ringing through her body. (But then again, maybe it is only wishful thinking. Hope.) Not that that would be a bad thing. In fact, it might just this once be the best thing. The only thing.
