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She remembers pain, the familiar rasping inside her body that feels like a lion trying to eat its way out of her. She remembers the cold ground beneath her side as she tumbles, her massive sides heaving, contractions pumping. She remembers her tail lifting, arching high, making room for the warm, wet body that slips out from beneath it. She remembers a rush of agony, then numbness, as she stands and lets the figure fall fully from her. She remembers turning to sniff and clean her newborn, noting with delight that it's a filly. She remembers snuffling at red fur, blood-bay like the sire, but with her eyes of ice and her spiralled horn of deepest midnight. She remembers encouraging the filly to stand, to suckle.
She remembers pride, happiness, that motherly glow at the sensation of having a foal at foot again. But that's all a dream. Isn't it? She hasn't had a foal for years. Hell, she hasn't even had a stallion come within a five-mile radius of her for longer than she can remember - if she's not careful, her virginity will grow back. But the dream is more vivid than any she's ever had in her life, right down to the smells and sensations of new child. It's really rather odd, but the silver soldier decides not to dwell. Perhaps her heat is due - she always feels broody at that time of the year, as is only natural. The aroma of a familiar figure reaches her flared nostrils - Déodat. Nyx squirms slightly, but not in a bad way. In her dream, her daughter's fur had looked queerly like Déodat's. That must be because the blood-bay man is one of the only stallions she's been remotely close to since she came back to Helovia - the filly could just as easily have had spots like Mauja, a cobweb-face like Lace. Or so she tells herself. She's vaguely aware that she's into Aurora Basin territory, but the sight of her blood-bay friend has removed all sense of trespassing. Dominus is off hunting, so the silver is all alone. Perfect to spend some quality time with the handsome, brooding beast. But Déodat is not alone. In front of him is a mare, a gorgeous thing who reeks of new womanhood, all curves and easy movements. A quite ridiculous stab of jealousy shoots through the silver's body, and she moves closer in a high-legged trot, just to show that she, too, is virile and womanly, despite her age. As she nears, the other mare's features merge into one, and Nyx's brow furrows into a frown. Red fur, black points, white markings...she looks familiar. Nyx's dream comes back to her, and her dark muzzle lowers so she can examine the stranger more closely. She arrives in time to hear the red introduce herself as d'Arcy, and again the name sends odd stabs through the mare's heart. "d'Arcy," she says, rolling the name from her tongue. It doesn't taste like a name she's new to, all rough and unfamiliar. It slips from her mouth, like she's been saying it for years. "Have we met before?" That's the only explanation. |
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
