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The coming of spring is quite bittersweet for the ironheart this year. Usually, when the days grew longer and the air grew warmer, she would celebrate the occasion by bringing this year's foal into the world - one single foal, never twins, god damn ass-ripping twins. But this year, she has had her children. They were winter-born, they suffered, and they made her suffer too; this Birdsong there will be no new life passing from between her thighs. The fact she's got so damn many offspring should sate her appetite for motherhood, and yet there's just something about this season that makes her want more. It is as though nature wants all its animals to breed the moment the snow leaves the hills, and Nyx is but a slave to nature, try as she might to resist its call.
She's also a slave to her unfortunate love of dick, which is precisely how she's spawned four foals in two years. Twins. Bloody twins. It feels utterly wrong to have a sense of melancholy about the lack of a child at her heels, when she has so many who still need her attention...but nature has a way of not making any sense when it comes to reproduction. Perhaps it's the fact that her older children, Libertad and d'Arcy, have either disappeared or hate her; perhaps it's the fact that Oizys and Enyo are so fiercely independent, which she puts down to a combination of their difficult early weeks and, of course, their father's genes. Either way, she feels the absence of a needy, hungry, fluffy little creature at her heels (that isn't Dominus; he growls at this comparison), even though she's solemnly sworn off men for life. But these are not thoughts to be dwelled upon. They are thoughts to be banished, ignored, crushed. She's already turned into fucking Supernanny, she needs no further additions to her brood. The handsome man-meat of Helovia can consider this womb formally closed for business. Well, closed for however long this little vow of chastity will last. Dominus guessed a week; she kicked him in the ribs for that. The spring sun is sweltering as she grazes lazily around the outskirts of the Edge. It's morning, with the sun on the cusp of reaching its midday highest temperatures, so she has already sought out the shade of a tree beneath which she can fill her belly without sweating like a stallion on a promise. Dominus lounges in the bottom folds of the tree - he is too large and cumbersome to climb particularly high, but he's managed to wedge himself upon one of the lowest-hanging branches and he's insufferably proud of this achievement. He dozes happily on his perch, ignoring the ominous creaking of the thin branch that groans beneath his weight. Nyx's thoughts fade into simplicity as she enjoys the tasty Birdsong grass, her worries momentarily shelved. |
@Tembovu
Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.
