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Everything, briefly, is peaceful. For a moment we are able to simply be, Savera lying on the cold ground, me lying in the warmth of her breath, our mother and sister gathered in close. Devi, I am named, and the name seems suiting - Savera and Devi, with Neaera and Charon and Tandavi and Natraj. We make a unit, a small and perfect segment of the world that the little morning star delights in, her comprehension and curiosity expanding slowly and thoroughly. She seems determined to take in every aspect of my existence, her eyes crawling carefully across every feather, every little tuft of fur and fluff. Carefully, delicately, she reaches out to nudge the bud of my wing - and her own raises in tandem, a small and dainty thing, still incapable of much but sitting and looking pretty. Just like us. For now. It is a perfect moment, but it is temporary, interruptable, as these things often are. I squawk as Savera raises her head, her movement sudden and poorly coordinated. I can feel the swell of confusion and disapproval in her young mind, the rebellion against all of these things interjecting into her peace. She strives to understand her surroundings, to soak them in and comprehend them completely- but how can she, when her surroundings keep growing, when the world keeps changing, when nothing is still? The newcomer, the big black stallion, is yet another thing she cannot understand. She grabs my shell and tries to retreat, to return to the safety of her sister's side, nickering softly to Neaera while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on all the goings on. The big black stallion ("Father," says mother, in that deep smoky voice that seems to hold every answer) is a speck of nighttime, but he is quickly countered by a ray from the sun. On the other side of her mother there appears a patch of gold, and Savera turns quickly, abandoning me briefly in her attempt to keep her eyes on every member of her rapidly expanding family. From my place at her hooves I continue to indignantly squawk - I'm growing hungry, and so is she, and this coupled with the perplexing situation and sheer shock of bonding and birth is taking a toll on both of our spirits. Savera parts her golden lips but only quivering sounds come out, insecure and incessant, her distress vocalized in this mewling cry. She wants her mother, and she wants her sister, and she wants to be fed, and she wants to understand. She is petulant in this wanting, demanding, inconsolable; she tugs at her mother's long mess of braids, peering insolently through it at the golden stranger with matching halcyon eyes. |
