 Posted: Tue Apr 14, 2015 11:17 pm
Marchosia laid low in the bushes, staring at what lay before her from her hidden spot. They didn't look dangerous, of course -- they were merely two baskets left on their lonesome, already taking on the colors and markings of the foals inside. But where there were baskets, there where parents -- and who knew what sort of soquili they might be? She wouldn't have stuck around if the situation didn't seem so, well... strange. With her heightened sense of smell, the scents of the baskets were clear as anything, and that's where the oddness settled in. The baskets were all she could smell -- nothing else. Which meant that the parents of these baskets were either long gone or had washed away their scents, somehow.
But who, aside from skinwalkers, would leave behind their own foals like this? And, if they meant to return, how could they leave them for so long, unprotected, even from the elements? There were only two answers that Marchosia could think of: Either they were the children of skinwalkers, or the parents had died. Neither were very comforting thoughts. And that was, to her great annoyance, why she found herself still here, staring at the baskets as though she expected this to be some sort of sick trap. They weren't empty, she could tell that much, but there certainly wasn't the stench of blood and death that typically, although not always, followed a skinwalker's path.
She remained still for hours with the patience that only a carnivore could achieve, hungry and waiting for their prey. But nothing came. Not even a creature touched by the spirits. These baskets, these foals... could they really, truly just be abandoned? The idea of it made her snarl to herself, quietly. She had no patience for parents who wouldn't even try. If they believed they couldn't take care of them, why couldn't they have given them to someone else to raise? Someone they trusted? Or, failing that, bring them to the two-leggers villages? Of course, if they had died... then it couldn't be helped. But, with that established... what was she to do now? She couldn't very well take them in as her own.
Could she?
Marchosia contemplated the idea. Truthfully, it wasn't that outlandish. Sure, perhaps she had never really had experience with foals before -- let alone raising them -- but how hard could it be? And, surely, it was better than the only other option she had: Leave the foals here to, in all likelihood, become a skinwalker's or kalona's next meal. She certainly couldn't have that. At the very least, she knew that she could provide food and shelter to the foals inside, teach them how to be strong, how to survive. Protect them from danger while they were too young to do it themselves. She never expected to end her day like this. Her life had always been somewhat dull, but she was content. Now, suddenly, she was more or less going to become a mother.
At least she wouldn't have to deal with the whole 'carrying the foals inside her body' part. Ugh.
She stretched out her neck to sniff the air again -- just in case -- but no, there were no new scents to join that of the baskets. The sun was setting by the time she emerged from her hiding spot, and then approached the baskets slowly, cautiously. Nothing happened. Marchosia leaned down to gently nudge both baskets with her nose, sniffing at them and examining them more closely. Still, nothing happened. Well -- it seemed like this was really happening. She was going to raise them herself. Glancing around at her surroundings, she quickly snatched up one of the baskets with her teeth, darting away to find a den to rest in for the night -- someplace safe and warm. She discovered a cozy little area where the bushes grew thick and crooked, arching over the ground to provide shelter to any who needed it. She claimed that spot as her own for the night, tucking the basket away as she returned to the field for the second basket. As she leaned down to pick it up, she froze, lifting her head back up, ears perked up and twitching every which way.
She could have sworn she heard the sound of laughter.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was her own mind playing tricks on her, laughing at her for the sudden circumstances she found herself in. It didn't matter. There were no new scents on the wind, and when the laughter didn't happen again, she picked up the second basket and returned to her temporary shelter. It would be a tight squeeze, but she could manage for just one night. Marchosia tucked herself in close to the two baskets and draped her tails over them, using her body heat to keep them warm through the chilly night, and when she closed her eyes to sleep, she dreamed of shadowy animal-like spirits, dancing around her, singing and laughing merrily at their own cleverness.
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