the Rift

[OPEN] Big wheel keeps on turnin' [BIRTHING]

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts
The chill emboldened her more than the last lingering remnants of the summer rays – because it was a destined change, a warp, a catalyst that spurned and invoked movement and motion. It was a sign of opportunity for the final herbs to be counted and tallied, to be gathered before they wilted and faded away in the balm of the changing, shifting, falling leaves, it was a swell of air inhaled and exhaled, a clamor of quiet, a rush of persistence and perseverance. It was how she’d lived for years now, beckoned between the hushed tones of dedicated glaciers and melting rime, thrust back into the corporeal existence of the winter swirls – just starting to blossom on frosted dew. She smiled even at that, touching her maw to a curled leaf beneath a vagabond fir, Imogen bounding over to tuck it between her teeth, pull it away from the earth threatening to freeze, intending to give it new life and furnishings back in the greenhouse. It was chamomile, common, but a necessity for ailing stomachs and light sleepers, and she grinned at its zest, its fervor, as it rested along the kitsune’s fangs, laughing slightly with the merriest of tunes as they continued onward through their trek on the northern borders, hunting, searching, in their own predatory way, not for blood, not for prey, but for the coiled fronds who’d yet to be snagged and ensnared by the cold. When night fell, neither rested, taking their turns and motions and angles in harmonic reverie – chasing after the midnight oils and the nocturnal splendor, enlightened by the stretch of wonder and bright hues floating along the horizon, basking in the glory, in the glow, of what was to come and what was to be – a world renewed all over again.
A lingering sound snatched at her ears, and she turned her head, inclined amidst the thistles and ferns, arching her brow towards Imogen, who shrugged, chirped with her mouthful of leaves. The decibels answered, clearer, louder this interval, and finally the Songbird recognized it for the depths and inclination of a forest spirit – regal Duir, come again with the summons of their King. The Northern Lord had kept her busy with recent beckonings, but she didn’t mind, telling Duir so with a fond smile, a touch of her muzzle to his crowned head. “Show me, please?” She whispered, a hush, warm puffs of air amidst the dulcet tremors, pondering over who she was to mend now – if someone had erred, if someone had faltered, if someone had been beaten and bludgeoned by an unknown force and they were to be mired again with havoc and upheaval. The femme swallowed down her apprehension, rooted it into the sanction of her movements and heartbeat, followed the rush of staccato hooves and fox tails, pressing into the Stygian allure, summoned again and again for her enchantments, for her invocations, for the hours pressed into her chest, into her entity, into her soul.
But when she arrived, she certainly hadn’t expected it to be for a delivery of a child.
It’d been so long since any foals had been brought into their glacial empire, especially this late into the season, where the rawness of Frostfall was only weeks away. Her surprise was only more imminent as her eyes gazed from the mother-to-be, Glacia, and the King standing nearby, a knowing look prospered across her features only by a softened smile, a worldly, enlightened clarity dawning upon her mouth. She said nothing about it, kept quiet, kept astute and aware, but her attention was solely riveted upon the laboring dame thereafter, merely quirking a brow at Rikyn as she settled nearby, curled her forelegs behind Glacia’s frame. “Congratulations, my dear,” she whispered, grinned, smiled, radiant and sublime as she began to hum, a picture of eloquence and effervescence, calm, composed, a portrait of serenity meant to soothe the rush of pain and agony associated with childbirth. “Now, let's bring the little one into this world, hm? I’ll sing, and you breathe,” she winked then, then resumed her prior incantations, feeling the rush of anthems and hallelujahs linger from her lips, poised across the cavern walls in a beautiful, symphonic triumph, meant to provide strength, aid, and soothing conjectures., a tale of respite and sanctuary. 

the songbird

@Glacia @Rikyn

Messages In This Thread
Big wheel keeps on turnin' [BIRTHING] - by Glacia - 05-05-2017, 10:40 PM
RE: Big wheel keeps on turnin' [BIRTHING] - by Lena - 05-08-2017, 06:05 PM

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