the Rift


[OPEN] Little sunrises [Birthing]

Najya Posts: 90
Dragon's Throat Alchemist atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 15.1 :: 7 (Tallsun) HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
A'mal :: Plain White Dragon :: Shock Breath Kiki
#1

Things had been quiet, and for that Najya was thankful.  The russet mare had remained within the borders of the the Throat once she knew, without a doubt, that she was pregnant.  Part of her thought about leaving the safety of the island and trying to find Gaal, for he had a right to know that he was to be a father.  But every time she felt herself moving towards the bridge, she found herself frozen in place. Najya was not a fearful mare by nature.  Perhaps she had been once, when she was young and hadn’t been exposed to the worse of the world.  But after the things she had seen she just couldn’t jeopardize the safety of her child, not when she knew that they’d both be safer here. At least, that was her assumption.  The protective impulse that came with the realization that she was carrying another life had been both immediate and overwhelming. It was that above all else that determined her actions.  And it wasn’t just limited to the little mare.  Najya had considered sending A’mal to find Gaal and to bring him here, but the little dragon steadfastly refused to leave her bonded. She had become just as protective over the unborn child as Najya and of Najya herself.

Najya knew that the birth of her child was quickly approaching.  She had been apprehensive, and not just for the birth itself. Her child had been conceived immediately before Kaos had revealed himself.  Najya remembered the moment well.  She hadn’t felt that helpless since the moment she had been forced to flee her home and come here.  The scene she’d stumbled upon - of bodies flying, magic rebounding, and children fleeing from the scene. The smell of blood was no longer one that was unfamiliar to her, and every night when she awoke from the vivid nightmares the scent was heavy in her nostrils.  She was nervous about bringing a child into a world facing such a threat.  They’d come no closer to discovering any more about Kaos or his weaknesses. She knew that the nightmares were as much a function of the hormones of pregnancy as the threat itself, but she was still exhausted.  Her joints ached, her back, she was exhausted much of the time and spent afternoons standing in the cool surf just so the sea would help alleviate some of the swelling in her fetlocks.

But more than anything she was so eager to meet her child. Even with all of the fears and apprehensions and aches, all that Najya had ever wanted was to have a family of her own.  And while the makings of this family were perhaps more unconventional than she had planned, the thought of becoming a mother was enough to chase all of the reservations from her mind.

Najya paid no attention to the beginning stages of labor.  In the beginning it was like any other day, filled with new aches and pains.  But then things changed, the pains became sharper and centralized and utterly unquestionable.  Najya’s breath left her lungs in a sharp exhale and the pain nearly took her to her knees.  She was pleased that she had already returned to the beach and was tucked away, safe from the elements.  From that point, Najya had no choice than to let nature take over.  She had little experience with birth and had been separated from all her maternal figures at a relatively young age.  But nature was a good teacher, and under the watchful eye of a tiny dragon the little mare’s labor continued relatively uneventfully - at least as uneventful as labor can be.  Najya was covered in sand and sweat, but with gritted teeth and a final push - the child made its way into the world.  A perfect little girl, equal parts her mother and her father, nestled in the sand at her feet.  The mare craned her neck to look at the child, smiling when she saw that the child had been blessed with wings - she’d be able to soar like Najya only dreamed of.  "Melita," the exhausted mare crooned, but her brow furrowed as the pains of labor returned.  Najya could hardly process what was happening for she had never considered the possibility of two children.  But after a few moments, the second joined the first - this one brighter in color than her sister but lacking the wings.  "Clementine," Najya breathed, nosing the second child, gently.  A’mal let out a series of quiet chirps and moved closer to the children, lulled by the sheer joy and love filling her bond with Najya.


N A J Y A
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Melita Posts: 35
Dragon's Throat Filly
Filly :: Hybrid :: 16 :: Newborn - Birdsong
Sila :: Plain Zephyr :: Wakiya Heather
#2


LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY



There were those carefree, whimsical moments in each individual’s life where they were completely unburdened by the rest of the world. They’re ignorant, naïve, inexperienced, and oblivious, brought to life by love, lust, desire, and yearning, set upon the ground to bloom, blossom, wither or die – unconcerned with the conflicts resting outside the newfound colors, the bright hues, the strange, shifting shadows. They all followed a primordial design - taking their first breaths, their first blinks, their first stares at the canvas of earth, at the big, wide realm, uncertain of where to go, what to do, and were merely beckoned by the great pulse of instinct. It pervaded through her now too, the little newborn bee, driven by the initial heave of her lungs, the beat of her heart, the flaring of her nostrils – instantly assaulted and ignited by so many sensations all around her. There’s the rush of the sun, warm, pressing along her wet sides, her sodden wings, the gentle murmuring of someone much larger, mother perhaps, the cooing of a beast nearby. All of it should’ve disturbed, alarmed, or set her upright, pushed her towards or away, but she took some careful moments, some scrutinizing instances, to simply wonder, to dream.

Thereafter, there were singular thought patterns, curling, twisting, weaving through her sentiments: sister being the loudest, and she swiveled her head off the dirt, off the sand, controlling each movement in slow, laboring motions, eyes already searching for the one she was destined to be connected to. She could hear her mother’s words, Melita, and Clementine, ears swiveling to process the entire exchange, when she saw her twin’s little orange body, tucked there in the dunes too, and everything was well, everything was fine, everything was an instantaneous relief that she fell flat on the warm surface again.

She liked the ground, but not to remain there, like a lifeless figure – she was ordained to be much more than that, especially when her stomach growled, her legs ached, and her wings felt numb. A foreleg was cast out from beneath her chest where she’d crumpled, unfolded and left out in the whirlwind of time and sand, then the other, brows furrowed indignantly, irritated that she’d yet to figure out where to place these dangling, awkward, gangly things. There was a series of strange gestures and incomprehensible movements, grunts, snorts, a fumbling of irritation from the mouths of babes; but finally she managed to secure her hind legs in the same manner, and maintain a semblance of lifting, rising, standing. She naturally toppled no more than a second later, but by the second, third, and fourth try, she’d adjusted her tactics quite well, and stood there, amidst the gathering of dragons, children, and mothers, like a staunch, proud, stalwart champion, chest thrust out, sides puffing, tiny, dainty feathers unfurling, beginning to dry in the rays of sunlight and beach. Her gaze shifted back and forth from her twin to her dam, pondering over which to try and reach first, because she’d known her sister forever and seemed to barely know the poor woman who’d carried and birthed them. So instead, she merely straightened, bright, gilded eyes focused entirely on the chestnut mare, and her tongue pried, loosened, tried to round out syllables and shapes. “Ma?” She ascertained and crooned, tiny head tilting a fraction, pondering over what the rest of the world had to offer.


           

Clementine Posts: 9
Dragon's Throat Filly
Filly :: Equine :: 15.3hh :: Newborn (Birdsong)
Prudence :: Blue Jay :: None Kiki
#3
C L E M E N T I N E
"Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
with tangerine trees and marmalade skies."


The filly did have a few distinct impressions of the world.  First, it was cold.  While it wasn’t a particularly cold day in the Throat since the air already hinted at the coming Tallsun, the filly still shivered as her baby-skin met air for the first time.  It was a strange sensation to become accustomed to in no time at all.  Her second impression is that the world was bright. Alarmingly so.  The girl’s eyes snapped open, and she closed them just as quickly as it seemed like the whole world tried to push its way in all at once.  The girl let out a tiny sound of displeasure before she attempted the maneuver again, this time opening her eyes slowly - giving them time to adjust to everything around her.  And what she saw was amazing.

How do you explain seeing colors for the very first time, or the sensation of finally bringing images into focus.  There are certain things that simply escape explanation, and this was certainly one of them.  The little orange filly was content to sit and observe for a moment, paralyzed by the wonders of this new world though thoroughly overwhelmed by all her new senses. It’s only then that she realizes how alone she is.  She panics for a moment.  She’s never been alone before.  Not ever. She can never remember a moment she was alone.  It is that impulse that finally inspires her to move and relief washes over her like the distant waves wash over the sands.  She breathed the tiniest of sighs of pure relief when there, so obviously, where who she knew to be her sister and her mother.  In the back of her mind she registered words - names - spoken but instead she was too focused in memorizing all the details of their faces with these new eyes of hers as the sun trickled down happily upon the little family.

But then, something changed. Sister - Melita - managed to do something incredible.  She managed to unfold her spindly legs and was able to command them to do her bidding and after what looked like an incredible amount of work she stood there victorious.  The orange filly let out a sound of pure happiness at her sister’s victory before staring at her own tangled legs, wondering if hers, too, were capable of such a thing.  She followed Melita’s lead, forcing her legs out before her before promptly falling to the ground. Once.  A second time.  On her third attempt she nearly got her legs beneath her, but the shifting sands proved too unstable and sent her somersaulting to the ground.  Clementine thought all of this was great fun, and couldn’t suppress the giggle as she righted herself.  Finally, she was able to get her legs beneath her and stood, unsteadily, though she ultimately realized she was facing the wrong direction.  She craned her neck around so she could see Melita and Mother and offered them both a sheepish smile.  Before she had the opportunity to try to correct her mistake, the sand that had accumulated on her baby-nose began to tickle. Her nose twitched and itched until finally she unleashed a baby sneeze that sent her back to the sandy earth below, twisting as she fell.  Clementine looked up at her sister and was lost in a fit of giggles.  

At least now she was facing the right direction.


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Iskra Posts: 79
Dragon's Throat Colt
Colt :: Pegasus :: 17 :: 1 year
Castiel :: Royal Humpback Leviathan :: Tidal Wave Blu
#4
"What do you think it will be Squishy?" Iskra asked of the bumbling golem at his side, the one his older brother had entrusted to him. Iskra took to the task rather seriously, and although Squishy could not answer him, Iskra certainly felt less alone with the moving metals at his side. It was why he treasured the egg he had found so dearly, regardless of what his mom said.

He knew it'd be a companion one day when it hatched, and although he hadn't ever thought about getting one before, now that he had it, it seemed a perfect answer to his heartache. Mom said this was selfish, and to an extent Iskra agreed, but he also knew she was selfish.

The egg was the question he posed to the golem - it was safely tucked in the crook of his wing for warmth and safe keeping. Together Iskra and Squishy tottered around the Throat, greeting those they passed and looking for a pass time. That's when they heard the giggles on the outer edge of the beach, where Iskra thought they might try chasing fish. Always a fan of anyone who laughed, and eager to make anyone do so who wasn't, Iskra hurried over towards the commotion.

He paused as he broke into view, not expecting the birthing scene that unfolded before him. Fear rooted him into place, eyes widening to match a full moon, while his grinning mouth was hung a bit ajar, wind whistling between his teeth.
Gross! was his first thought as his nostrils and eyes were assaulted by all the fluids. He did his best to stifle his initial reaction of wrinkling his nose, not wanting to embarrass the mother.

Uh oh! was his other thought, fearful that the new mom might be a bit too amped up, as some other mothers he'd run across had proven to be. They didn't like him trying to drink from them, or inviting their kids to play dangerous games, or depending on how touchy and young their kids were, even getting too close, like he would hurt anyone!

"H-hi," he finally greeted once his mind finished catching up with everything it was processing. He hoped to appear non-threatening by throwing out one of his usual, disarming smiles. Naturally his body also hunched lower and his lips clacked together repeatedly in an instinctive display of his youth. "I'm Is-Iskra" He didn't back away though, interest getting the better of him after he adjusted to everything, and well the new fillies were pretty fun to watch try and stand. He didn't really remember his time at this age, but he figured it must have been similar. So helpless - a welling desire to protect filled him for the first time ever, which clashed horribly with his pacifist personality. Could he protect them with...smiles? Humor certainly had a place in guarding ones heart, but at this age they probably didn't have much heartache.

"Melita, and Clementine?" he asked, trying to assure he heard her right when he was walking over. "Nice names! But where's the eggs?" His 'brows knit with mild concern, and he leaned in a bit, voice lowering, "Did it- did it break uh, inside?" His eyes widened, "Is that what all this stuff is, egg goop?"
Iskra
You don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart
No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful

Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.

Najya Posts: 90
Dragon's Throat Alchemist atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 15.1 :: 7 (Tallsun) HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
A'mal :: Plain White Dragon :: Shock Breath Kiki
#5

The overwhelming and instantaneous love that Najya felt was enough to to help her forget her fatigue, at least for the moment.  She was completely enraptured by the little ones, watching as they figured out the world.  Her body screamed at her to sleep, but she steadfastly refused - unwilling to miss a moment.  She did her best to commit each and every moment to memory, for she knew well how memories were often fleeting no matter how tightly you held on to them.  But before she knew it, the children were stirring, undoubtedly motivated by empty bellies.  The russet watched as Melita conquered her legs first, standing proudly in the sunlight.   “Well done,” Najya cooed, in encouragement, as then the little equine filly too tried to work out her own legs, with less positive results.  However it did not seem to hinder the girl’s disposition.  Najya let out a soft laugh as the girl ended up in a pile of long legs and giggles and decided that she had rested long enough.

The mare pulled herself to her feet, struggling to keep her expression neutral as she did so, and took an unsteady step closer to her children.  A’mal looked up at her bond mate, uncertainly, but Najya reassured the little dragon through their bond that she was fine.  Just re-acclimating herself to her own weight, absent the twins, was a strange sensation.  However she did not pull her attention away from her children for long.  Her curled ears flicked towards Melita as the girl spoke, and hearing the words of her child brought a warmth to Najya that she simply could not explain. She stepped closer to the girl and lowered her head. ”Yes, little one. I’m your Mother,” she said, brushing her nose against Melita’s fuzzy baby forelock, memorizing the sweet honey smell.

She then looked over to where Clementine lay sprawled on the ground, lowering her head so as to breathe in the sweet smell of the girl.   “Why don’t you try again,” she breathed, encouragingly, before stepping back to allow her space to try again.

Someone coming, the little dragon spoke through the bond, though there was no alarm paired with the words.  So while Najya immediately raised her guard, she made no move for the sword tucked in the rocks.   When Najya saw who had come, she allowed herself to relax. It was clear the child had no idea what he’d just walked in on, and she could imagine the entire scene was overwhelming. “Hello Iskra,” she said, warmly, to the boy, as A’mal moved to greet him properly. “That’s right,” she replied, with a small nod and a smile as he repeated the children’s names, “ and I’m Najya and that is A’mal” she finished - gesturing to the little dragon who now sat at his feet.

“These little ones didn’t hatch, Iskra. They were born. But I suppose the process isn’t that different. I protected them inside just how an egg provides protection outside,” She said, simply, not wanting to provide too many details so as to confuse the boy.  “A’mal hatched from an egg, though. Didn’t you?” The exhausted mare spoke to the dragon, who immediately answered in the affirmative by way of a series of chirps and clicks.


N A J Y A
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@Melita

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Melita Posts: 35
Dragon's Throat Filly
Filly :: Hybrid :: 16 :: Newborn - Birdsong
Sila :: Plain Zephyr :: Wakiya Heather
#6


LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY



There was a torrent of activity, and she tried her best to absorb it all (but everything was so fascinating, so overwhelming, so awe-inspiring, that she took more than a few seconds to shift and stare, to not be incensed, rattled, contorted into a thousand different directions). Her eyes focused on one thing after another: her sister being the first (always the first), with her loud giggles, unleashed sneezes, and silliness. Melita’s laughter rang out too, echoing, reverberating, and chiseling its way through her little frame until they seemed a mixture of jubilant and hiccups, and she began to wobble again, barely upright throughout the entire affair. Her twin was amusing and the world was jovial and everything seemed absolutely fine, positively perfect. She bent her head, tried to stretch without falling down again (because it’d taken so long to figure out how to maintain her balance), to touch and to ensure and to be forthright and ridiculous with her kin, but she too came crashing down inevitably, landing directly next to her sister in a wave of flickering sand and spirit, a sweet scent entangling within her nares (distinctly Clementine). “You’re funny!” The little bay girl laughed again, intoxicated and beguiled by the ignorance of children, the residual effects of simply being new.

She might have spent another hour or so there with her sister, lost in the deluge of exhaustion, foolishness, and joy, but a distraction deterred her attention from Clem and onto another form glinting in the horizon. It moved, coming closer and closer, all blinding, scorching colors, like pieces of earth and the sky altogether (and she looked from the horizon and down to the colt again, sure he’d fallen from there, another piece of the clouds, taken from the heavens), and the filly shifted her head from side to side, absolutely puzzled, enraptured, delighted, and spellbound. Who was this creature? What did they want? What on earth was it talking about? The conversation spiraled and curled away from her quickly, clips of words and phrases that held little meaning to her newborn mind. Curiosity, that dangerous, intrepid thing, got the better of her however, because no sooner had the boy (Iskra, he’d said, in between all the other odd statements) spouted off about goop and things, did she stare and shout at him from her sandy dune. “What is egg?” The notion, the syllables, the way they’d blossomed off her tongue sounded funny again, so she began to giggle once more, flopping over and rolling against the warm ground, relishing the simplicity of life. Then she opted to practice his name, because it seemed poetic while she spun through the dirt. “Issskra,” she sang.

Her mother spoke too, tender and delightful, and she thought about going to her, sliding across the strands instead of trying that awful standing sentiment. She sighed, wrinkled her nose, glanced at Clementine, heaved an enormous amount of effort into extending her forelegs out, and continued the process until it seemed nearly normal. When she stood, chest puffed like a proud bird, she motioned to her twin, a flailing muzzle striving to reach over one of her ears, tug on it with her lips maybe, encouraging her to follow along.


           


@Clementine


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