chernobyl

i was not caught, i crossed the line
i live among you, well disguised

Things move fast and slow at the same time for her now. One second she is grooming the wobbly child beneath her nose in complete exhaustion induced autopilot mode and in the next second her senses suddenly flood back to her like water breaking through a dam. Sound gush back into her open, alert ears, the breeze brushes down her sweaty sides and twiddles the ends of her long black tail; pain swirls just behind her ribs replaces the numbness she felt moments ago. She takes a deep breath, smelling and tasting the damp forest that surrounds them. Murdock’s embraces are welcomed warmly, tiredly. She leans into him and closes her eyes against his beating chest. ‘Everything is as it should be’, she feels this whisper to her mind’s eye. She smiles with her eyes shut, drifting into a light standing sleep, listening to her lover’s voice proclaim the beauty in this moment. She hums affectionately with concurrence, leaning harder into him, loving him next to her; his wing around her, her body curled against his, their child balancing on shaky legs just in front of them.

The colt stands finally, never falling but definitely struggling. His knees threaten to buckle and he holds his wings out for balance, the little bones of his creaking and popping as his unfurls and stretches out, finding each controllable muscle as he lurches forward. His eyes are unnatural for a horse, his legs long and his wing bright. There is something else about him too that isn’t quite regular. The sun is rising somewhere in the distance and its subtle light finds corridors to gleam through between the old tree trunks. Shafts of peachy, fog-lit luminance dance across the foal as he moves – tiny scales animate across his rump and belly, patches become obvious under his plume of baby-mane. They fade back into his short, black, plain fur. These spaces will not be plain for long. There is no way to tell now, but his coat will morph with age, dawning strange and wild murals of color. His wings stretch out, bright and multi-colored, the white glows best in this pre-sunrise atmosphere. As his steps progress he becomes smoothing in his moving, navigating a small, choppy left turn to spin around and face his parents, smelling the milk and knowing it is the cure for the uncomfortable rumble in his belly. When he made his way closer his nose meets his father’s, his muzzle is enormous, his whiskers extending out to poke gently against the child’s very soft lips which are stretched out in curiosity. Not much registers but hunger, and comfort within his hour-old mind – but something is certainly fulfilling about touching noses with the big dark, shadowy figure with grass-sweet breath and a tender nose. The bond of his father is instantly felt and absorbed. After some time nuzzling and grunting against his father’s gigantic face he moves to slide beneath their bellies (as they stand side to side) and find that tap-able well of milk he’s so strongly drawn to.

Bull feels her son draw nutrients from her, relieving the almost intolerable pressure that pushed against her nipples for weeks prior to this day. He’s positioned with his body just underneath his father, between each set of legs, and his head nestled under his mother, sucking down milk ever so happily. Chernobyl drifts back to sleep, lightly, and here body begins to lose its fatigue after sometime. If Murdock moves away she doesn’t feel it, awaking fully some hours later, her son folded at her feet resting after some close by investigations while his mother rested. She shakes and blinks her eyes, finding Murdock and grinning widely, a joy that is never in her swims in her eyes now. The sun has risen into the morning now, dawn has officially gone by. Birds are active now, the owls withdrawing the deer bedding and the squirrels chattering. She reaches to find Murdocks muzzle with hers, to push into his lips with hers and to nestle her way back under his wing and against him. “Everything is as it should be.” She takes in a deep breath and bends down to brush the sleeping child. He unfolds and rises with a yawn, stretching as if he’s stretched a million times before. His wings flap flightlessly and he shakes the sleepiness from his bones. “Shall we walk on now? Or would you like to stay here a while longer?” Her eyes search his, she can probably find the answer in him before he says it aloud, but she’ll let him answer anyway. Dresden nurses a little more while they talk.