Malta had known since the day before that her eggs would be hatching. She could feel them in their eggs, her magic resonating with four blazing lives that longed to burst free from their confines. So, she procured more water (having a Peisio mate was handy) and a large sheron carcass and settled in to wait.
Roshon had waited with her the day before, but the stress had grown too much for him, and he'd had to retire to his lair to calm down. She would call him if they did start hatching... perhaps, though, after a delay. She wanted to keep some of this momentous event – the hatching of her first clutch - for herself.
Normally, one of her kin would be with her too, but it was early in the morning – the diurnal ones were just waking up, and the nocturnal ones were just going to sleep. At this moment – this exquisitely quiet moment – Malta was alone with her eggs...
There was a flare of life energy, and a shudder from one of the eggs. She sat up, attentive, excited, exhilarated.
It seemed she would not be alone for long.
Posted: Mon May 04, 2015 4:18 pm
It was time.
Eggs were all well and good. Warm. Cocooning. Safe. But a sense of want for more — a restless energy that had been building ever more persistently within her as her body built in size and strength — was overpowering now. Her safe zone, the warm world, small, and walled off from the droning sounds of an undefined ‘elsewhere’, was suddenly not comforting but a hindrance. Not a cradle but a cage that kept her from everything beyond the space that was no longer a perfect fit but far too small and limiting.
She scrabbled at it, nosed at it, twitched and shifted. There had to be some way to elsewhere some way to more even if her tiny mind was not yet capable of even beginning to contemplate what that might be. She wanted it. All of it, everything, and more still.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
If one hit did not work and not two or six, then more was necessary. It was a touch exhausting, and she took several breaks as the outside of her egg warmed very faintly with the coming thing she would later identify as ‘morning.’ For now, all that existed was the elsewhere, and as soon as her strength was back, she combated the walls of her egg again.
Fortunately, nature had designed her body well for the task ahead, her snout nub hard, body already large enough to be straining the egg, and the inner shell soft and easy enough to — eventually — form a small rivulet of crack. She wriggled excitedly. Victorious. She was nearly to something more, and — spurned by her success — she batted more. Pushing, pushing, pushing until the walls around her were nothing but cracked remains of her previous confinement. She scrabbled, pawing messily at the ground with wobbly new limbs before tottering forward and making a tiny squeaked trill of noise, partially muddled by the dampness of her inner-egg’s membrane, before pushing at her snout and attempting to sniff out her—
Malta's fins tilted forward to catch the slight sounds of the orakoi's tapping, her eyes eager and fixed on the egg as she settled it between her paws, arching over it intently.
This one would be... was... her first. Her very first, ever, offspring. It was a momentous event that Malta didn't want to miss even a single moment of. Well, momentous for both of them. She cooed softly, fascinated by how the egg jostled and jumbled and rocked with the force of the new life within it, so much like a seed that Malta had to remember that she could not help it break free with a jolt of magic. Such was not the way of Orakoi. Children were not plants. Plants were not children.
Plus, it was clear that the little one didn't need help, magical or otherwise. Malta purred – they were doing fine on their own. Unlike her. Though Malta could no longer remember the crushing confines of her eggshell, could no longer remember how it had constricted growth and breath and even the movement of hatching, she knew the story – how her brother had broken her free and into the world. She was pleased that this was not the case.
She lowered her snout in wonder to the radiant crack that now streaked through the brilliant green shell, poking it gently, encouragingly.
And then, suddenly, a tiny muzzle appeared before her, thrust through the egg and onto the sensitive flesh of her own nose. Malta pulled back, startled, and then laughed, shaking her head to free it of the strange sensation that blows to the nose brought.
“Hello there!” she cooed, still laughing, lowering her nose to touch the little one's muzzle – gently this time. She nosed the newborn carefully, inspecting them and nuzzling them with great curiousity. Their scent, newly unfurled, reached her questing nostrils.
Female
Ysali
“Welcome to the world, my little one.” she purred.
Posted: Thu May 07, 2015 5:47 pm
She rumbled.
Warm, other, louder, thick and rolling noises sounded near her. Close and accompanied by warm breath. All factors that her infant mind automatically associated with ‘mother’ and ‘family’ and ‘safety’, and she pressed closer, pushing against the snout that touched to hers and taking in the scent. Instinct labeled it immediately, tucking it away for future needs. She, though, was already busy grappling with a multitude of factors at once: her eyes, her small muscles, various body parts that all allowed her to move but then flop moments later. Everything was there to sniff and see and taste and who might have imagined that ‘elsewhere’ would be quite so massive.
Her tail, mostly unbeknownst to her, wriggled, swishing with her body as she pushed herself upright again and moved to make another attempt at tottering around ‘mother.’ Vibrating, contented purring noises moved up her throat as she did. Yes, yes. This world was big, and oh, would it be exciting.
And hers.
She nosed at the nearest part of her mother that she could make contact with and licked.
“You'll get better, little one, with practice!” Malta laughed, stretching a paw towards her... a paw that tingled as her daughter licked it. The tingling spread, first through her forearm, and then through the barrel of Malta's chest, becoming a searing, ringing flame. A good flame. Malta drew the little one to her, snuggling her close. “I love you.” she said softly, licking the little one back, taking away some of the remaining – and dirtied – egg goop from their little wings and scales and tail and fins – such lovely fins. “You look as if you were grown from a seed...” She commented, cuddling them, “Not hatched from an egg... but you were. And is it any surprise you are Ysali, my little one?” She babbled a rumbling litany, the strange feeling rising to her own fins and making her head tingle with delight. Perhaps this was what twolegs felt when they were drunk, tottering and babbling and giggling. Perhaps she was drunk, watching the little one squirm and snuffle. Could someone be drunk on love? she wondered, adoringly, Could someone be drunk on life itself? She decided, as she looked at her firstborn, that it was possible.
“My little one... My little life...” she cooed, “You were so excited to come out, and you are so excited to be out, and I love you so much... So that should be your name.” Yes, she realized, she'd have to give it... her... a name! Malta was named for honey and sweetness. Her brother, Maike, was named for flight. “And you... I'll name you Ysa. For Ysali....” Because she was life itself, wasn't she, this little one? Bouncing and purring and not at all exhausted by her ordeal of the egg. She was ready to take on the world, and Malta looked forward to seeing it. “No. Ysalda.” corrected Malta, “It's a little longer, so it's got a bit more um...” she nosed her daughter back to an upright position, giggling a little, “Dignity. Dignity and joy.” She snuggled the newly named Orakoi again, and began to nudge them towards the meat. “Well, my Ysalda!” she chirped, “How about something to eat?”
Posted: Mon May 11, 2015 9:26 am
She tilted her head, listening and absorbing all her mother’s various noises. He mind could not process all of them yet, but she got the gist of feelings that came with them. Warmth. Positivity. Protectiveness. And love. These all radiated from her mother as surely — or more surely — than any magic, and she basked in it, happily listening and working to identify as many of the utterances as she could. One day, she would understand them all.
For now, however, she simply sized herself up, lifting her head proudly when her mother nosed her back into a fully upright position. The effect was, perhaps, more amusing than awe-inspiring, but she felt ready for anything. Powerful, with her chin nosed up high and her tiny wings flitting to stretch experimentally.
Then, as she was nosed again, she smelled it. Meat. Food.
With all the energy her tiny body could muster, Ysalda bounded forward, half hopping and half rolling towards the scent. On reaching it, she tackled, purred, scraped at several scraps with her claws, and then began mouthing enthusiastically.
Malta couldn't help but laugh at the enthusiasm and awkwardness of her little Orakoi... her little Ysalda. She walked over, tail swishing contentedly as Ysalda attacked and 'killed' her unmoving, unliving (anymore) prey. “Careful, little one.” she laughed, “Don't bite off more than you can chew!” She clawed off one of the pieces Ysalda had shredded, cutting it into smaller, more easily-managed portions. “Here...” she said, through the small fragment of meat, as she offered it to Ysalda.
Posted: Sat May 16, 2015 12:00 pm
Ysalda gave a quick, soft yip of objection in the first instant that some of her food was taken. When it was returned, however, in a much more manageable size at that, she trilled, immediately content. She wasted no time gobbling, either, and ate until her infant belly was solidly full. There, she rumbled, sleepy in spite of herself, round, and pleased. She stretched, giving a yawn to alert the world in her change in moods and then toddled over towards her mother. Mothers made good temporary beds. She nosed her, leaned, and stretched out, belly down to the earth. Further excitement, surely, could wait until after a brief post-breakfast nap.
Malta fed her daughter's seemingly bottomless stomach until, finally, it was somehow filled. A hungry orakoi was a healthy orakoi, that much Malta knew, and she was pleased to see that her first offspring had such a voracious appetite. She hoped, though, that they hadn't inherited her tendencies towards keeping that energy as fat. But she had been fat out of the egg – little Ysalda had hatched with the usual sleekness mixed with awkwardness, so she was likely to be fine.
As Ysalda settled in for a well deserved – in Malta's opinion – rest, Malta lifted a foreleg to snuggle her close and curled around her, resting her head on her paws near her napping firstborn as she watched the other eggs, patiently and waiting. They had had a good start... what new wonders would the others bring?
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