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 Posted: Thu Dec 12, 2013 1:00 pm
The ruins had lost their mystery, though the mists still swirled thick and close in the early pre-dawn hours. Three baskets, two dark and one light, sat together in the shelter of the ancient rocks. One of the baskets, white against the shadows, began to move.
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Posted: Thu Dec 12, 2013 3:55 pm
Aurora was tired. Beyond tired. Her wound ached, and her body was weary to the bone. She had never expected labor to be so painful. If not for the adrenaline of fear that had coursed through her body from the bearwalker, it probably would have hurt more. A terrifying experience. To have a predator eyeing you with blood thirst in their eyes made her shiver.
Now here she was, laying in the dirt, hair spread haphazardly around her in pools of glowing strands. She was calm now, worn out, but relieved to have the ordeal over for the most part. Dante had chased the 'walker off and had helped Aurora bundle the two surviving foals into their little baskets to grow. The one... the one foal.... Dante had quickly taken it away before Aurora could focus upon it. She had seen only that it did not move.
A single tear rolled down her black face, burning her eyes for a moment, before she turned her focus upon the three baskets feet away from. One was snowy white, and two were dark as midnight with tendrils of glowing light within them.
Children. Her children. Leaning her head forward, she nuzzled each one gently. As she did so, the white one began shifting. She jumped slightly, her heart thumping heavily for a moment. It was unexpected.
"Oh... Oh little one. Are you coming out to finally meet mother?" She murmured, strangely beside herself with glee at the perplexing event that was about to happen.
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Posted: Sun Feb 02, 2014 8:39 am
Mewsings of An Angel (sorry for the delay, I missed your tag.)
It didn't know where that warmth had gone or why it had returned, but the loss of it, again and again, spurred the young life. Inside it's small home it could not tell what that warmth and life was, but it knew it had been left without it for far too much of its life.
Outside was frightening, but that was where the reassuring warmth and life came from. And, maybe, it would be big enough that the foal could uncurl.
With legs that felt the need to stretch and wings that wished to open and flap, the foal knew it was time.
The basket walls were thin, but still a barrier. So the foal pushed and stretched and found the claws on the ends of his feet. Not that they helped, getting tangled up in the weave of the basket, one small talon protruding from the side as his head tried to move the lid of the basket. A wing interjected and the whole thing went amiss.
He wasn't quite sure it was worth it after all. With feathers going in random and uncomfortable directions, a claw still stuck in the basket's weaving, and the lid still on, he paused to lay still and examine the predicament he was in.
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