Her lineage would forever remain a mystery, her birthright and mother hidden in the deepest and darkest regions of her mind. She wasn’t privy to this information and perhaps it was just as well that the newborn remained in the dark. She had been the product of an unholy union, whether the mare was willing or not was uncertain but it had been apparent that neither stallion nor mare had been inclined to accept the basket. As opposed to raising the child both mother and father had tossed the innocent basket aside in favour of something else – what that ‘something’ was open to debate. Regardless the basket was forced to endure the unforgiving and brutal treatment that the slopes had to offer. In winter, Mother Nature was not a kind mistress and it should have come at no surprise that the child within the basket struggled to survive.
For many weeks, the situation was grim.
Perhaps if whatever humans had sealed her within this basket had permitted her to remain free, then she would have stood a greater chance of survival but unbeknownst to her, they had chosen to seal her away from the world. It was with good reason of course, few were aware of what she was and it was highly likely such a horrendous creature would be slaughtered before she could walk; but perhaps that would have been kinder than the slow, chilling nights that embraced her tiny form until the day she met her maker.
It was a sorry state of affairs and such a fate could have been defined as cruel and unusual. However, when Mother Nature seemed at her most cruel she chose to throw the child a lifeline and as death crept in on her small form she was discovered. Hidden from view within her basket, her unusual features remained a mystery but the mare that had uncovered her had never been one to judge. A lonely basket, unsheltered in winter was not something to be ignored and without hesitation the cream mare had taken the basket and tugged it the whole way home. The journey had been slow, the weight of the vulnerable baby still significant due to its size (and indication of the species to say the least) but eventually the basket felt a trickle of warmth and the howling winds that chapped the wicker of her basket seemed to cease.
The mare that had shown such kindness went by the name of Bella and she was a matriarch to one of the larger families within Islagiatt. As the lifemate of Azumoth, the renowned Lord of the Forbidden Grove, she had already seen much and raised many. Consequently she didn’t hesitate to treat the basket as her own and despite the disgruntled manner of her mate, she demonstrated great kindness and consideration towards the unknown babe. The tender voice and warmth of the mare became a familiarity to the babe and in due time, it began to associate her ministrations with that of a mother. Admittedly it had no idea what a mother was, or what it represented but at the very least, the babe could recognise that she provided something that no other had ever done.
However, the cruel winds and bitter treatment of the babe within the basket had taken it’s toll and while other foals may have broken from the wicker long ago, she remained hidden in the depths, too shy and vulnerable to poke her nose into the world. Perhaps it had been this foul treatment that had stunted her growth, but it had taken a considerable amount of time for her ‘home’ to feel cramped and it was only months down the line that something had to give. No longer capable of shifting her head here and there, her nose pressed too firmly against her legs, she began to struggle and thrash about as testament to her discomfort. The basket rocked to and fro, the wicker flexed and bulged and then with a rather brutal punch of her hoof the tiny mare managed to crack the side of her tiny home and her flailing legs were able to stretch out. At first there had been a whisper of excitement from the ever warm and tender mare nearby but as the spaded tail had appeared, the tone seemed to change.
The babe lay still, unhappy with the sudden shift in mood.
It felt far too similar to that of Mother Nature’s harsh and hissing winds.
Was it too late to hide back in the basket?
Nevertheless it was with a little more coaxing that the babe tentatively struggled on and with another wiggle of her rump, she managed to free a little more of her body. When it became apparent that she lacked wings, there seemed to be a slight lightening of the mood. She couldn’t fathom why, she was oblivious to the family she had been born into and would only realise in due time that the patriarch of this mighty family abhorred Kalona. The fact she lacked wings was an indication that while she might be of Kalona blood, there was also a possibility that like Azumoth’s family she had merely been cursed with mutations. Admittedly, she could also be a half-breed but in the eyes of the motherly mare anything that indicated she might not be what her lifemate loathed was a blessing. It was with a final little struggle, a quick jerk and then a tumble backwards that the filly freed herself and it was at this point that she sat on her rump in a rather dazed manner.
The reason why she had been bound into the basket became apparent at this point, the odd and rather horrific fangs that lined the front of her jaw now gleaming in the light that managed to breach the thick canopy of the forest. She was by no means a monster, not in Bella’s eyes at least, for all intents and purposes she just had very big teeth. Unfortunately for both child and new ‘mother’ her lifemate didn’t quite agree. One look at the babe when he had returned home was all that was needed for his eyes to narrow to mere slits of distaste and for the words to escape his lips. Ignoring all protest he ruled out the possibility that the child was not a Kalona in one fell sweep.
“It has to go,” he ordered coolly, shaking his head dismissively as his lifemate attempted to argue with his decision. The humans had sealed the babe in a basket for a reason, to contain it and kill it in the most efficient way possible. A baby couldn’t hunt or feed from within a basket and the cold winds should have annihilated it, the fact that Bella had stepped in at the last minute had merely challenged the fates and destiny itself. In the eyes of Azumoth, that child should have been dead months ago.
Very dead.
He didn’t stay to hear further protests and instead he took his leave to seek out something more constructive to do and more pleasant to look at. It was common knowledge within the family that the patriarch had a great hatred of Kalona, but in this case, was it really right to shun a child that knew nothing of her heritage? She was a blank slate with no recognition of what was right and what was wrong – in essence, she could have been raised in whatever manner an individual chosen and instead of embracing the opportunity he merely announced her death warrant. There would be some in the world who would question whether he truly had the power to decide what lived and what died. The Fates were well known for meddling with his family and frankly, it should have come at no surprise that they had chosen to place the petite Kalona in his midst.
Fortunately for the petite filly, death was not something that would wait for her beyond the Grove and while her mother’s lifemate had not received her well, one of his sons would. Bella’s youngest son had recently returned home and while he was in the process of setting up a rather efficient new knighthood, he was able to granted his mother an audience long enough to grasp the situation at hand. Unlike his father he did not regard Kalona with hatred but did recognise their less desirable qualities; aware that it was unsafe for her to remain in his father’s presence he agreed that he would move her. He didn’t specify where he intended to take the child but he swore an oath to inform his mother as soon as the child was settled – he was not so cruel as to forbid his mother from laying eyes on the child she had cared for all these months.
Before the child had even grasped the concept of what family was, she was removed from the Grove and scarcely able to walk she had been taken away from the immediate vicinity of the forest. Sylph Forcas, the son who had chosen to lead her to a more appropriate dwelling remained tight lipped in regards to their destination but eventually they found their way down the slopes and closer to the forests that bordered the lowlands. To say the child was frightened would be an understatement but as they drew to a halt before the small cave that rested half way up the slopes, what she was greeted with seemed to make things just a little less scary.
It was true that very few would be capable of raising her in Islagiatt if she truly was a Kalona. No member ate meat (or they refused to admit it) and as a consequence they wouldn’t know the best way to proceed. The renowned, if elusive, doctor of Islagiatt would be more than capable of deciphering what she was and what she ate though. Looks were deceiving and Sylph’s family should have known this better than anyone, but it would be Azzinoth who would be capable of deciding whether the filly was truly a carnivore or perhaps there was a little light at the end of the tunnel.
The calm and unassuming male that greeted her chose only to regard her with the assessing gaze of a doctor and unlike his brother, he didn’t appear to regard her with disgust.
“I would appreciate if you would attend to her for as long as is necessary to conclude what she requires to survive,” Sylph murmured quietly to his uncle, bowing his head a little in a respectful nod.
“And when I have?” Azzinoth enquired softly, his eyebrows lifting slightly in question.
“I will find her more appropriate dwellings, until I am aware of what she eats and her requirements I cannot find her a suitable home, I am sure you understand this,” he hesitated slightly and regarded the filly who had now come forward to inspect Azzinoth’s long and feathered tail. “My father rejected her, despite arguments my mother recognised it wasn’t safe for her to stay. Kalona or not, I cannot stand aside and watch in good conscience if she is harmed.” At these remarks his uncle seemed satisfied and the flash or challenge within his ethereal eyes dissipated. A small nod was provided and he coiled his tail around the filly’s to keep her from wandering beyond his immediate lodgings.
“Very well, but until such times as I am certain I will attend to her but be aware, I do not excel at hunting.”
“If it becomes apparent that she requires meat as sustenance then I will aid her,” Sylph replied curtly, Azzinoth’s eyebrows shot up once more. Sylph had the decency to look sheepish and cleared his throat, “I would appreciate it if you told no one, some of us cannot sustain ourselves on foliage alone.”
“At your size, I would expect not,” Azzinoth replied in matter-of-fact tones (a surprise to his nephew) and gave a loose shrug. “Should I discover the young one requires such meals I will send you a message in the vaguest of manners but I have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“Her name…?”
Sylph hesitated, regarded the filly for a long while and took all that she had endured in recent months into consideration before releasing a soft sigh. “Suppression seems to be appropriate,” he replied gently and shook his head. “But I am sure you will be capable of finding a more appropriate nickname in the meantime.”
And so, the filly found herself a home and this is where our true story begins. Whether she will ever be granted the opportunity to see her ‘mother’ again remains uncertain and what she requires to survive remains a mystery. However, the pieces of the puzzle will eventually fall into place and all shall be revealed. She may be a hero, she may be a villain but while she remains a blank canvas she has been given a second chance by the fates to find her own feet.
