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05-13-2016, 11:12 PM
AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
Rain lashed outside the cave, a spring shower that came unexpectedly in the late hours of the night and would peter out just as suddenly. For now, though it turned the cool spring night into a raging storm that bellowed with waves of thunder and seemed to shake the surrounding mountains. The cave was a respite, a sheltered cocoon that held its inhabitants safe from the weather and now was the time they needed that safety most. Had Aisling known it would be tonight? She must have, if only in her the realms of the deeper instinct that drove her to seek seclusion, seek shelter. She may have been granted a temporary respite in the Basin but this was still a foreign land to her, she still and outsider, and so that night she had tried to hide herself away, to hide her child away, from the threats of prying eyes unknown dangers.
For hours it seemed, the little faerie mare battled though the discomfort and restless pangs of labor. She shuffled around the small cave, constantly adjusting her position in a quest to find relief but until her work was done there was none to he had. In one corner lay her flute, playing an old, gentle tune that helped to keep the girl's mind occupied and block out the sounds of the storm outside. She wanted her mother, never more so had Aisling wished to be home again that as she struggled to bring new life into the world. Her mother would know what to do, how to take care of the babe. All through the arduous task, she fretted and worried that she was unfit and unprepared for motherhood; just a foolish girl who had gotten herself in trouble and minute upon minute the pain and the worry compounded. This wasn't right. She couldn't do it. She wasn't able.
Her daughter entered the world and Aisling's worry melted away. What fight could fear put up against the waves and waves of overwhelming love that crested over her. The flute ceased its song and even the storm seemed to quiet, both humbled by a far greater miracle. As instinct and instruction told her, the new mother began to clean the foal, pulling back in surprise at the first lick for the little lemon was just as sweetly tart as her father was minty; she only cuchked softly and continued. Aisling marveled over the little filly, laying close to lend warmth and nuzzling the little body to encourage movement. She was so beautiful, all pink and yellow and fuzzy, even a little nib of a horn upon her brow. Aisling had never seen anything more perfect! This was it, her purpose, her prize; this was all she needed, just this little filly, her little lass to be safe and happy. "Fáilte go dtí an domhain a páiste, mo chroí." she murmured sweetly to her heart's most dear. Welcome to the world, my sweet child.
For hours it seemed, the little faerie mare battled though the discomfort and restless pangs of labor. She shuffled around the small cave, constantly adjusting her position in a quest to find relief but until her work was done there was none to he had. In one corner lay her flute, playing an old, gentle tune that helped to keep the girl's mind occupied and block out the sounds of the storm outside. She wanted her mother, never more so had Aisling wished to be home again that as she struggled to bring new life into the world. Her mother would know what to do, how to take care of the babe. All through the arduous task, she fretted and worried that she was unfit and unprepared for motherhood; just a foolish girl who had gotten herself in trouble and minute upon minute the pain and the worry compounded. This wasn't right. She couldn't do it. She wasn't able.
Her daughter entered the world and Aisling's worry melted away. What fight could fear put up against the waves and waves of overwhelming love that crested over her. The flute ceased its song and even the storm seemed to quiet, both humbled by a far greater miracle. As instinct and instruction told her, the new mother began to clean the foal, pulling back in surprise at the first lick for the little lemon was just as sweetly tart as her father was minty; she only cuchked softly and continued. Aisling marveled over the little filly, laying close to lend warmth and nuzzling the little body to encourage movement. She was so beautiful, all pink and yellow and fuzzy, even a little nib of a horn upon her brow. Aisling had never seen anything more perfect! This was it, her purpose, her prize; this was all she needed, just this little filly, her little lass to be safe and happy. "Fáilte go dtí an domhain a páiste, mo chroí." she murmured sweetly to her heart's most dear. Welcome to the world, my sweet child.
@Larue @Johnny
Righto, posting this now so Smitty doesn't get her babies squished too close together. I know I can't make a private thread but maybe ask before joining prettypleasewithacherryontop?
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
