my kingdom come

Mother had been angry, furious— muttering unintelligible things in a guttural growl, her brindled brows furrowed to accentuate her rage. I had been busying myself with target practice, shooting pretty red gems from the bottom of the pool into trees. My legs had been sore, begging for me to take a break from shooting. Instead of being greeted with the usual greeting Mother gave (which was none at all), I got a deep snarl that numbed my limbs. I knew then I had done something wrong, that I had failed Mother in some way— perhaps she'd found out I'd asked aunt Nymeria about Volterra, and she was here to exact the punishment.

The first strikes had been bearable, the one that started it all unexpected— I let them happen, I stood my ground and took them as she brought down her hooves. I did as she always wanted me to do, even as I began to curl into myself as the force behind her strikes became unbearable. She had bit with her blunt teeth, burrowed them into my withers and screamed into my neck as her hooves dragged down my sides. I didn't cry out, worrying my lip as I felt her puncture the skin.

It all went downhill from there, because she didn't stop like she normally would after my blood began to ran— no — she kept going. Deep into the tissue she dug, like she was looking for something she'd lost there, something we both knew she'd never find. The first tears fell, everything collapsing as her spittle flew and the insults came spilling out from bloodstained lips. I fell into a state of detachment as she beat me, but each word rang clear through my head. They stung my wounds and made my tears fall harder. Finally she kicked my throat, temporarily cutting my air supply. I shuddered at the feeling of my throat closing up, swelling and contracting beneath the expanding tissue her hooves had struck.

I remember the world being a blurry disaster of salt, metal and utter pain. I remember trembling like a cold newborn child, the pressure of her slate hooves against my ribs, threatening death. Just before she could crush them, her clouded eyes cleared and she left me there. I don't know for how long I lay, wishing she had in fact just shattered my ribs and let me suffer a quiet death.

I had lumbered away into the night, running far and as fast as my sore, unsteady legs could carry me. I stumbled along, tripping over roots and rocks, hitting full grown trees and falling into bushes. I panicked, looking behind me more than in front, fearing that she was following me with the same terrifying fury consuming her rational thoughts. I cursed myself for leaving Sabre with her, but I couldn't turn back now— I just pray Mother really did like Sabre enough to not beat her as harshly.

I finally collapsed at the bank of a river, shouting as I stumbled and felt my knees give way beneath me. My body hit the ground with a solid thud, cold snow melting around my blood caked body, an unpleasant feeling that I couldn't take care of in this state. I laid there, breathes coming in an unnatural fashion and eyes clamped shut, afraid of seeing Mother looming over me.

I cried.

For the first time since my birth, I began to sob uncontrollably, all this pent up emotion spilling out as I lay vulnerable among frost covered grasses. I felt weak, I felt low. I wanted it all to stop, to stop feeling. It was all too much and I didn't like it.

"Talk."

Hobgoblin’s body is made for the sea, not the land, not even the creeks and the rivers when ice hangs in them. He thrashes almost pathetically, letting out roar after roar of distress, watching as Sikeax refuses to do anything to aid him. This was his fault, and he could easily change to remove himself from the water, but it would risk becoming wet and soggy, forced to freeze in the cold.
A break comes when he finds himself free of the rocks, diving into a pool that extends it’s deep belly further out, enough that he can move. She follows from the shore, moving slowly, following his shadow beneath the surface. On occasion, a blur of silver rises from his body, streaking through the dark shades, like a light in the night.
This carries on for an unknown amount of time, chasing the river to the sea, letting it gradually deepen as the ocean prepares to welcome it with open arms. Neither of them care for conversation, only listening to the quiet sounds of the meadow in winter, the rare song of a bird, the rushing sound of the river that feels more like a gentle whisper, the slowly increasing sound of a child’s cries-
Rising out of the cold, water droplets spray from the seal’s nostrils, blinking only once as his eyes adjust, finding that Sikeax is further from him than expected, but near by, shown by the amber form that largens as it approaches. On the bank, lays a child, one in bad enough shape that he could easily make a meal out of. Earth drags along his underside, and when he believes that he is close enough to grab it and drag it into the sea for a feast made without much effort.
By the time that she does arrive, his jaws are hanging wide, searching out a leg, something to grab onto, and when he believes he has gotten this all taken care of, a hoof strikes a speckled back. He hisses in response, slipping backwards into the water as if to be some sort of evil serpent, embarrassed after his failure.
“Why stop? Child dying.”
Don’t say that. He’s not dying. He’s just upset.
“Child die soon.”
It’s painful to look. Upon studying him, she can feel her stomach twist into knots, chest tighten, and the breath in her lungs escape. She doesn’t want to see this, watching the child shake with his sobs, possibly in pain with each movement, covered in blood from gods know what. A deep sigh passes from her before turning into a low nicker, searching for some sort of acknowledgement before touching his frail body. Her muzzle searches for the feeling of a soft baby coat, the weak shake that comes with sobs, anything to prove he’s alive beneath her touch.
“Shh… Please don’t cry, dear. I’m here.” And while it doesn’t seem a good idea, her legs buckle at the knees, moving down towards the cold snow to lay beside him, hoping that her body heat would offer relief against the cold air rising from the snow.
“Why are you crying? What happened?” She feel herself tense as she tries to clean the blood from his silver coat, waiting for the metallic taste of dried blood against her tongue.


"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"

Sikeax;

i'm missing the beauty in your soul

my kingdom come

It's dreadfully upsetting to see something lumbering towards you with a hungered look in its eyes, readying itself for the delicious meal it's going to make out of you. I have no energy to protest, to get up and act on the natural drive for survival that fuels all the other animals on this planet. I watch it closely, pleading silently for it to kill me quickly. I didn't want this pain, this pressure or unbearable emotion. With each sob that wracked my body, every muscle screamed with melodic resistance, even raising my head slightly to look at the beast that threatened to eat me seemed too much.

Hooves strike against the back of the beast, mouth gaping open as a weak cry spills from my lips in surprise. I cannot register that this isn't Mother, hastily pushing away from the hovering shape desperately, mind whirling in blind panic at the idea of more beatings. "NoO!" I sob, shaking at the possibilities of Mother's reaction to my state of being, how she'd laugh and break me further. She would spare me no mercy, not when there were tears in my eyes.

But the nicker comes, gentle and soft from someone who isn't her. I try to relax but my throat is still clamped shut and my sides are still heaving, brain still on high alert over my rushed escape and close encounter with death. It takes me several minutes to realize that this mare's nose has begun to brush against my skin, a soothing touch that feels soothing but unfamiliar, this genuine kindness never before seen by me. Never before had Mother touched me so tenderly, for it was always reckless shoves and nips (or her hooves).

She lays beside me, hushing my tears and telling me that here she is, here for me. These words are distant, like she's whispering to me from afar while the wind is fighting against us. I barely have the energy lift my head, bubblegum eyes flickering from the kind features to the champagne body, resting on the subtly glowing cerulean horn upon her brow. I can't bring myself to care, to make rude remarks about how inferior she is. I seek comfort from anything but Mother, and she is here (conveniently). And this mare I am certain, is not her. She begins to clean me, washing away the drying blood with tender swipes. In the way she carefully washes away the evidence from my hide, I know she has a mother's touch, the thing Mother lacks.

It takes me several minutes to collect any cohesive thoughts, my head still fuzzy and stuffed with all these overwhelming things. I open and close my mouth repeatedly during the process, trying to register that this is what safety and comfort feel like, things I've never had the luxury of feeling. She's warm, and from somewhere I can smell the beach on her coat, reminding me of rolling tides and hot sand. "A- attacked." It's all I can spit out before the knot in my throat cuts me off, body quivering as the shock from Mother's rage-induced attack quiets.

"Talk."

She worries when she shouldn’t, worrying for every bit of this child’s existence, worrying that if she was just a little too late, something worse might of happened. The ‘no’ that is thrown towards her is enough to stop her in her tracks, standing with eyes tired and hurt, brimming with pain. Was it how she had attacked Hobgoblin that upset him? The Rougarou complained from beneath the water, sending out a flurry of insults and rage-filled comments towards her as the pain quickly turned into dull illness that forced him to suffer. It’d bruise, but nothing she couldn’t heal for him.
“It’s okay, I promise I won’t hurt you.” Did she come off as aggressive? Or was it her brother? She believes she can hear him snort as she thinks this, admitting his displeasure towards the both of them. Hunger ebbed in both of their stomachs, shared between the two of them, but she was more willing to suffer for the safety of another. “You’re safe with me. I’ll protect you.”
His body feels so frail against her side, so different compared to what Zhu felt like. When Zhu was a robust and muscular child who quickly shied away from her touch if it was too much for him to process, this child was willing to stay with her, to let her tongue drag against him as she worked to clean, slightly smaller than her own child, wearing one thing that left her feeling haunted. A skull face.
And while she doesn’t mention it, it hangs in the back of her head like an omen, thinking that maybe this could also a child of her son’s father. How many more children were there from Him? Was Zhu not the only one? Pink eyes meet her gaze and she wonders if she has made him uncomfortable. “You have lovely eyes; did they come from your mother?” If this was His child, then she couldn’t imagine him siring pink eyed sons from his red eyes. Even when the colours were close, it seemed farfetched. In the back of her head, she laughs to herself about the idea of Him having pink eyes.
Ears push forward as he talks about what happened to him, and with that single word, her heart sinks. Why? Why would anyone attack a child?
“Because child weak. Child dying. Let Hobgoblin eat.”
NO.
The quiver of his body tells her to dip her head into his side, searching for some sort of embrace that would hurt him further, offering a hug if he’ll accept. “Attacked? By who?” Did you?
“No. Found.”
She watches Hobgoblin finally emerge from the water, pulling his entire body from the water until he is able to shift, visibly experiencing discomfort by the position of his stance. “No hurt. Yet.”
An idea strikes her, one that might help cheer up the child and aid him in the process. “Would you like to see something cool?” ‘Cool’ felt like such an odd word, something she hadn’t said in some time, especially in that context. But with a smile on her face, hoping that she can manage to get him to copy, does she let the small white flame flicker from her lips, allowing it to fade out after a few seconds. Hobgoblin snorts at her for such childish things.
“And guess what?” Time for the big finale.
It draws from her lips once more, sweeping over his withers with gentle, hot kisses, working to take away his wounds. She stops once she feels that it is finished, letting him process it. “There’s no pain to it either!” With this does she laugh, feeling faint sparks of happiness take away the pain of seeing him in such a sate.



"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"

Sikeax;

i'm missing the beauty in your soul

my kingdom come

I cannot fathom this safety, this comfort and warmth that never before have I known. I don't even think Sabre has been given this luxury of love and affection that children deserve— that we have both suffered in the quiet cold all of our foalhood. I wanted to stay here a while, to have this kind mare keep me safe— to have her hide me from Mother's wrath. But it couldn't happen, and eventually I would have to leave (or she would, it all depends), or else I'd face worse punishments than this.

And so she coos quietly, telling me that she will protect me from dangers, as she did with that animal. My eyes follow every movement of hers, and even though my head rang and cried from the temporary lack of oxygen, I still tried to observe. Even in this state of ruin, I carefully watch each action with an unsteady eye and tired mind— it served as a distraction from the blood clotting the wounds along my back and the throbbing in my sides.

She had been assessing my features, lingering a while on my eyes and ivory mask (maybe she recognizes that I've stolen it from Nymeria). It shouldn't be a surprise to me when she asks where the hue of my eyes come from— but my stomach tightens at the mention of Mother, an uncontrollable wail escaping me as I tremble before her mention. In all honesty, I do not know the answer as to why my eyes are the colour pink (I've never seen my father, I don't know what colour his eyes are), when Mother's are steel grey. I can feel the welling of a new wave of tears, streaming from my eyes while my mouth clamps shut at the idea of Mother. "A-ah du-dunno." I whisper, trying to find someplace to store my head, needing to frantically burrow it closer to the amber champagne figure where I felt safer.

The long awaited question came tumbling from her, and my body stiffens. I swallow the answer wholly, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as my panic rises. I had to answer somehow, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than disastrous syllables that add up to nothing. "Mmmm mmm aa." Is all that I can muster before my eyes widen and I pull my legs closer to my abdomen, hoping that Mother isn't lurking close enough to hear that I tattled on her— I'm sure I'll be dead if she had heard, especially because I was telling this all to a unicorn.

I didn't think about it, that this was the enemy I was seeking comfort in, that I was supposed to hate this mare's guts for simple being. But her kindness wavered my opinion, and I thought that maybe, just maybe— this mare could be exempt from my hatred. She had proved herself to me, and for that I am grateful. She could have left me here to be eaten, could have let me freeze to death or bleed out in the night— but instead she took time to care for me as a true mother should.

She performs a trick, deeming it 'cool' as white fire flickers along her lips, wispy alabaster flames dancing along her ebony maw and trailing towards me. I watch with my heart thundering in my throat as my pain begins to subside, stitching up my wounds with a magic touch. I want to cry out of worry, gratitude— maybe even because this was so funny to me— a unicorn helping out such an undeserving child like me. "Doesn't hurt." I laugh almost silently, shoulders shaking and a soft smile spreading over my face. "Thank you—" I murmur, looking up at the mare as she lets out a laugh, attempting to dispel the heavy air that clings to us.

"Talk."