my kingdom come

I slept a dreamless sleep, viewing a still blackness that overcame my senses in the early hours. I think I saw a skeletal face somewhere drifting in the abyss beside me, glittering red eyes tracking my movements as the light of dawn began to pierce my lids (who are they?).

Nymeria looms over me, bubblegum eyes groggily observing her for a quiet few minutes, listening to nature rise with me. Birds begin their morning routine of chirping in failed harmony, screaming and whistling from branches in trees a ways down the meadow— the sun poking out from behind the treeline screaming, 'wake the fuck up beauty queen!' Flatten my ears and heaving a groggy groan, I pull myself up until I'm on all four mismatched hooves, shaking myself off to get rid of debris and dirt.

"Follow me to Mother." I tell Nym, not hesitating to rush forward, little legs gaining speed rapidly as my eyes focus on the narrow invisible trail ahead— one I'd ran walked only last night on my way to flee from Mother's erratic hooves. I could hear Nym's own hooves thundering behind me, easily keeping up (I don't travel fast) with me, the possibility of a conversation between us null as we travel through the misty morning.

I can't tell exactly how long it takes us to get exactly to where we needed to go, but long enough that by the time we get there I cannot breathe without sputtering briefly (my lungs are small okay, I'm not out of shape or anything). I take it slow now that we're under a canopy of trees, caged in by the trunks of varying widths and lengths, roots grabbing hastily at my hooves as I ungracefully trip (oops), righting myself before glancing back at Nym to smile awkwardly— I hope she didn't notice.

"Mother?" I call out once we near her normal location, ears pricked forward, eagerly awaiting a response. I wait another few minutes before calling again, louder this time. "Mother?" My heart leaps to my throat at the sound of aggressively approaching hooves, desperate rhythm bringing a subtle tremble to my knees as there's an angry holler in response. "KID!" She bellows among the trees, the snorting and aggravated exhalation becoming apparent as she gets closer.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT I-" As Mother storms into view and begins her furious rant, she skids to an immediate stop and her eyes widen. I've never seen an expression on her face, terrified and shocked— she knows she's fucked up now, staring at my aunt's figure with utter surprise present in her steel eyes. I feel victorious as she gazes in awe, a grin crawling across my features because yes, for today, I've won. "Hello Mother." I sing, batting my lashes for her in a sweet display of innocence.

"Talk."

Bend your chest open so I can read your heart

I need to get inside or I'll start a war

Birds sing in idle harmony, repetitive noise to fill up the void of morning quiet. She tunes out the melodies in favor of Kid's breathing (inhale and exhale, whuffle and grumble.) It is a strange feeling that fills up the emptiness that dwells within: she doesn't know what this love is, but she condones it. It is warm and lovely and bright, like a summer day, and it is reminiscent of hope and granted prayers. What reason would she have to force this feeling away from her when it feels so good?

They are skullfaces. The same blood runs through their corroded arteries and withered veins.

She will not forsake him.

Together they rise. She is sleepless, restless with her weighty thoughts, but upon seeing his spindly legs unfold and his scrawny haunches rise she finds a smile flickering across her lips. Once more she reflects on the hope that lightens her burden. She hadn't thought of what Kid's generation had meant upon seeing their birth; her thoughts had been consumed by jealousy and dislike in equal measure. Now, with the skull-faced children right up in her face and reflecting her face, she'd realized that they were the next generation. When she passed on, it was Kid and Sabre would remain behind her to teach and raise the next legends. It hadn't crossed her mind that this was part of her duty; she'd never given thought to children. Children of her own had always seemed to be a faraway reality, but Kid and Sabre demanded her attention as much as her own children would one day.

Meadows give way to trees and then to forest. The dark swallows them and the shadows consumes them. She is not uncomfortable. In her childhood she'd spent her time in the night and the fringes of daylight; the forest had become familiar, as had much of Helovia. As they weave their way through the brush and the labyrinth that is Kid's home, she is lulled into an oddly serene state.

For once, she has some kind of purpose. She is loathe to part with it.

Twigs snap and branches claw at dusty silver skin. The mother is neither subtle nor friendly—her voice is a whip cracking through the air, carrying with it a threat of violence. Nymeria, silent and withdrawn behind Kid, bristles; a storm begins to brew beneath her charcoal skin. Red eyes flicker to pink (is she always like this?) and then away from pink to slither over youthful, bruised flesh and old scarring.

There's a saying about hell having no fury compared to a woman scorned—but a woman scorned has nothing on a mother's invoked wrath.

There is fear on Colt's face and Nymeria is savagely pleased with it.

"... You were saying, Colt?" (Her voice is a purr; her smile is an unsheathed dagger.) "I would hate to interfere with your disciplining."

Bend your chest open so I can read your heart

I need to get inside or I'll start a war

The end of Colt's sentence is incongruous with its violent start.

Nymeria collects herself. Her muscle and bone shifts and snaps into alignment in sharp mocking salute; she grows, swells, in face of Colt's brutality. At full height she is damn near to three hands taller than her sister-in-law—but with her voluptuous curves and buxom build she towers over the brindled mare. She's strangely proud with that of that fact; she hopes it makes the other mare feel inconsequential. Colt—barbed wire, bloody knuckles, shiners and callouses—deserved to feel puny and unremarkable if she talks to Nymeria's blood like that.

There is a terrible hate that seethes just beneath the grullo's cold veneer. She had never liked Colt. And this... this would be an easy thing to act on. It could be an unforgivable act. All Nymeria had to do was act on impulse.

You don't act on impulse. It was no longer in her nature.

The wolf blinked slowly, fastidiously. The smile (so dangerous in nature) slowly faded away from her mouth in consternation. Her ears shifted forward; the mother's voice sounded thin and taunt, a paltry attempt at reconciliation. A sigh fought its way from her lungs to slide between her ivory teeth, choked and brittle. She wondered if there was some way to take Kid away with her (and Sabre too, don't forget) and protect him from whatever foul creature his mother was. How is it that Volterra could ever sleep with her?

Kid steps her way. Nymeria steps in closer to him. Together they face Colt, Nymeria impassive and frigid and painfully personal all at once. "I want to Kid to apprentice under me if you will allow it."

my kingdom come

Mother's anger diminishes in the presence of Nymeria, face falling slack after her surprise subsides into subtle anger— I know well that I am going to be punished for doing this, for requesting such a thing. It will be a huge feat for Mother to agree to these terms, knowing full well that she could easily deny me such priceless liberties and drag me into the forest (where who knows what will happen). I worry my lip (a habit now, from both nervousness and enticing thoughts) as I hear the false motherly tones fall from Mother's lips— she said she was worried about me. I want to look at her and laugh unsteadily, to tell her how wrong that is, how sick it makes me to hear her say such grossly untrue things. But my lips remain shut and my expression remains neutral (seems to run in the family), eyes flickering unsteadily to Nymeria to answer the fleeting question that lingers between us (always). In rare occurrences Mother may show kindness and gratitude towards my success (only when I please her with repeating what she's taught me, or when I showed her the magic I inherited)— it brings conflicting feelings to the table, where I both fear and appreciate her, hate and love her, I'm torn.

By refusing to slide beside my own dam I enrage her, brows twitching in irritation (she's mad, she hates this)— the satisfaction of knowing she cannot do anything to me (not yet) makes me feel powerful, like I am above her and she will struggle until Nymeria has gone, when my invulnerability escapes my grasp and I turn once again to the hard hitting hooves of my mother. I best cherish it while I can. We stand together against the most prominent force of evil (currently, there are more to come so stay tuned!), a clash of child (and aunt) vs Mother

Mother raises a brindled brow at Nymeria's request, my eyes glittering with a hopefulness I've never before experienced. With each passing second my childish eagerness gets in the way of my focus, every possible body part twitching with the possibilities to come (will she agree?). Finally the wait is over, Mother's lips moving soundlessly for a second before producing sound— the words are callous and unpleasant, as if she's agreeing against her will, like she's stabbing herself in the foot or some weird and obscure shit like that. "Fine—" There's a pause, her tongue carrying the last syllable for one second too long as she goes on, "you'll need to prove to me that you're worthy." The stunned silence (from me) carries over for several seconds as I turn to Nymeria, everything but the blood rushing through my ears and pulsating heart quiet.

It's not that I think Nymeria isn't capable, I just fear that she and Mother will go at one another's throats— that this fight will be less of a fight to determine worthiness and more of a personal conflict to see who was best. Mother would not give up, and this I am sure of— I know she will push and push even if her ass is handed to her, and the dread of seeing Nymeria get hurt by the perpetually shorter mare frightens me, but also of Nymeria hurting Mother severely (as wonderful as it is that I'm being fought over, these aren't exactly the contenders I was thinking of).

"Talk."