.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
Pregnancy should be a happy time. Eagerly anticipating the birth of one's child, enjoying the 'glow' (which is just the polite way of saying 'sweaty and fat'), revelling in the sensation that new life is about to burst free from the womb. And, indeed, up until today Nyx had felt those high levels of excitement about her incoming progeny, and spent many a happy hour grooming her swollen sides. She'd pondered over whether she would bear son or daughter, plotted her child's future career (warrior, of course), even picked out a good area to give birth (under the protective branches of a massive tree near the outskirts of the Edge, on a soft bed of moss), and was generally a fairly happy mother-to-be. Damn the fact she wouldn't be able to fight. Damn the fact her herd may flip their collective shits at her for her lack of responsibility. She was going to be a mother again, and she was going to enjoy it.
But now...how can she be happy about life, when death comes so easily? Lace. He has been a stalwart in her life since she was a green young filly in the Woodlands. Her sire trusted him, and, by proxy, so did Nyx. In Helovia, he was one of the first faces to greet her, bringing her and her father into his home. Yes, he'd caused some serious shit when she brought him to the Edge a few months ago, but she did not let that sour the years of friendship they'd shared prior to that little incident. Now he's gone. Claimed far too young by the all-consuming force of Mother Nature. Ironically, the silver is aware that when she lay keening over his fallen frame, onlookers probably thought she was mourning her fallen mate and the father of her foal. They probably thought her a weeping widow, doomed to love a dead husband and raise her child on tales of its fallen sire. They couldn't be more wrong - he was her best friend, and so much damn more than any lover could possibly be. She'd loved him platonically, although perhaps a part of her had wondered what if? But their relationship had been so much purer than anything the ironheart had experienced, built on trust and a mutual history. His loss hurt her more than the death of a former flame ever could. Lovers could be gathered, stored like trophies; true friends were rarer than rocking horse shit. She'd found gold when she found Lace, but now he's in a place where she can never speak with him again. Her pregnancy takes a back seat to her misery, and when she re-enters the Edge she cuts a dejected sight. She doesn't know why she is compelled to let Mauja know of Lace's fate. It seems stupid, futile, as though telling her king of the cobweb stallion's passing may make him magically decide that he actually liked him. The silver soldier draws up to the Edge just as the moon rises in the sky, slaying the sun and blossoming into a great white sphere of life. Perhaps Lace is up there now, watching her, raising an amused brow at her silly, petty grieving. She stands, a sentinel against the encroaching darkness, sides swollen and cheeks stained with the ghostly paths of tears, waiting for Mauja. She doesn't even call for him, for fear her voice will crack - she trusts he will find her, as he always does. "" = |
@Mauja
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
