Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

Loneliness and boredom are typically two things he simply doesn’t feel. In fact, he’d come here in the first place to take a break from the stresses of his herd. During the never ending Tallsun, the colors in The World’s Edge had grown clotted and somber, the sounds discordant, ominous. Now, the fire-blasted landscape is as grey and bleak as the craters of the moon, populated by cantankerous unicorns that Cineviam cared not to interact with today. His ashes were of more welcome company but he couldn’t enjoy them when they are in constant competition with the ruined residue of the forest.

Since the Sun God incinerated a large chuck of their forest, Cineviam had gained a smidgen of anonymity in the rest of Helovia. A coat of ash finely layered over everything in the territory – every withered bush, charred tree, even staining the inhabitants – there was no escaping it. Once the passerby’s recovered from their fright because the very scent of him turned their minds to the possibility of a nearby wildfire, the perpetually shedding beast simply became one of those pitiable unicorns that an angry deity had unleashed His rage upon.

For a while the storm-painted titan finds himself grazing alone in the vast meadow. It was the first rib-sticking meal he has had in days and he devoured everything in excess. A filthy radius started to pile around him, his ink-chapped lips first sweep aside the soot then deftly rip at pull, mumbling at whatever he can get them around. The vegetation was dry and brittle and it didn’t take long before Cineviam developed a thirst. Plus, the grass might still be pleasantly green by the water and he knew that the little green shoots are the sweetest. And so, determined to have his treat he headed toward where the river carved through the land.

He did not see the bathing beauty until he stood at the banks precipice, looking down.

Almost every inch of her is submerged in the water but he glimpsed all that he needed to and there was no horn perched like a crown upon the mare’s head. Grey ears lean back fractionally, displaying his obvious distaste at having to share the same water source with a hornless. The herd he was brought up in was blended of blood and species and Cineviam didn’t harbor the same intense hatred that many of his current herdmates bore toward Pegasus’ and Equines. He simply found little fault in his genetics and therefore preferred those of his own kind. No good could come of this chance meeting, especially if it reached the ears of certain alliances in The Edge. Nevertheless, he always made sure to assert himself as an alpha-type creature of wherever he happens to be at the time. Should he decide that her presence was too bothersome, it would be the mare that was removed. His ashes seemed neither interested nor repelled by the maiden so he took his cue from them.

He ignored Daenerys as he lumbered down the slope to get his drink.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

Cineviam hadn’t meant to startle her.

He rarely slunk through the shadows, and even when he meant to be stealthy, the sharp tang of his ashes rarely gave him the opportunity to ambush. Even if he weren’t covered in the stuff and if he had been painted all black, Cineviam still couldn’t make a shadow of himself. He was too big and bold to play chameleon in some dark corner. Yet a gasp grated against the great gray toned beast and he made a face at the mare’s alarm.

Still he refused to look in her direction. Nothing about his carriage was threatening; she would become accustomed to his presence. Or she could take her leave of him – it mattered little to the salt and peppered stallion. It wasn’t until the floating head starting gliding toward him that he finally felt compelled to focus on her once more. If only to check that the head was actually attached to a body. His movements grind to a halt a few feet from the water’s edge, glowing ember-eyes tracing what slowly emerged from below the stream's surface.

The liquid sparkled on her mane of splendidly disheveled hair. It glistened on her legs, which she used as gracefully as a ballerina, and it dribbled from beneath her barrel like shiny coins. From beneath a belly that was well-rounded, heavy with child. Any interest he might have had in the mare, perhaps a male’s desire to spread his seed and build a lasting legacy was all but squashed at the realization that she was already expecting. There is no disappointment for he wanted only the strongest mares to bear his children, thereby improving his future offspring. And of those stalwart mares, he preferred ones with unicorn blood. He doubted such a delicate looking Arabian would handle the pregnancy of a part draft child with ease.

Fortunately she could not begin to guess at his thoughts or she wouldn’t be smiling so prettily with the intention of speaking with him. A lofty flick of his ears is his only reply to her harmonious lyrics for Cineviam did not care to participate in her trivial chitchat. Instead he gave her a wide berth as he moved along the shore, finding a spot that was not clouded, the bottom having been stirred up by her hooves. The moment his lips skim the surface he sucks back greedily, noisily slurping. Ash from his forelock jolted loose, shrouding his reflection. More words pelted him; despite everything she seemed determined to engage him in conversation. He raises his head, muzzle dripping. Those blood red eyes meeting her purple ones.

“Shouldn’t you be in the safety of a herd Daenery’s?” He alluded to her vulnerable state after she introduced herself. His deep voice had a timbre and a resonance that in another brute would have conveyed only self assurance but that, combined with his size and hard features, suggested menace.

It was a far more interesting subject to the soot-stained stallion than the weather or time of day.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

So be it.

The hint of menace was meant to be nothing more than a subtle nudge for the mare to return to the safety of her herdland. A reminder that Cineviam wasn’t the only thing that went bump in the night, her mate could always thank him later. He could tell by the ever present smile upon the silver mare’s ashen lips that his message wasn’t received, or perhaps she was one of those independent types that assume they have everything under control. It doesn’t matter, whatever the reason, Daenery’s didn’t look like she was going anywhere and the soot-stained stallion did not care what happened to her beyond this brief meeting.

Despite his best intentions, Cineviam found himself sucked into a conversation. It was her voice – unfailingly kind as it falls smooth on the ear – and her smile that gripped him. Impossible to continue to ignore without bordering on disrespect, and allowed no room for an excuse for more threatening behavior. He remembered what Mauja said about not provoking an attack on the Edge until they were ready for one, so when she spoke next her words were received by attentive ears and a slightly more agreeable countenance.

Under protection of the moon… The urge to scoff and roll his eyes was just barely supressed. Lion-tail cracked like a whip against his side, further smudging his hip, the only outward sign of his prickliness toward the subject. He wondered if no one had told Daenerys that it was the season of the Sun God. Even the World’s Edge, the Moon’s own region, led by the Goddess’ staunchest follower was not safe from His wrath. The mention of Her children had stumped him. No one told Cineviam that they were guarding any outside their own. If not members of The Edge than who else would be considered Her children? A memory flashed before his eyes of a black mare with a golden dragon, leading a small group into The Edge during the Sun God’s visit. Crimson eyes narrow fractionally on the pregnant mare, no longer believing her as witless as he had before

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about a jealous paramour barging in.

Naturally, what interrupted was worse.

The unknown voice had Cineviam calculating the distance between him and The Edge, where the doctor and a nurse could be found. Before he even laid eyes on the divine golden form, he knew that the voice belonged to the Sun God. It was animal instinct combined with superstitious logic – speak of the gods, think of the gods, and damn it a god shall appear.

Time seemed suspended as he turned his blood red eyes to approaching form, his heart knocking at his ribs more insistently, reminding him that it would like to keep beating. Even standing as tall as he could, he paled in comparison to the golden goliath – opening His wings like fire to consume and burn the world to ashes. The soot-stained mortal cannot help but smile, clutched through a grimace, in the face of the Grim Reaper; no doubt His scythe arched beneath the crook of his throat. “So pleased to see you again, under these more intimate circumstances” he purred back.

Before there were many, now there was just two – there would be no escaping notice this time.

“I don’t understand”, he answered calmly in the Sun God’s palpable fury. If it was about the ashes, Cineviam had been born with them. They were something he produced; he did not seek them out from the God’s. He knew they aided him but half the time their meaning was unclear and he wasn’t sure how they functioned in the first place, if it was magic or something else entirely. Perhaps the Sun God was disgusted because he had no part of them. Cineviam didn’t expect an answer. He only waited for a new display of power, perhaps accompanied by some suffering if not imminent death, and then a flashy exit like last time.

When the gilded eyes left him to glower at the Daenerys, an entirely selfish idea crossed Cineviam’s mind. A thought of splitting up, of putting distance between him and the alabaster mare so if the Sun God could target only one of them, surely it would be the slow, heavily pregnant one. She would be easy pickings.

He hadn’t taken a step before fire burst like a Molotov cocktail from the golden figure, showering flames. The hissing mass streaked at them and Cineviam dropped his head, resisting the urge to cry out when the wake of searing flames washed over him. He thought he smelled burning hair but he didn’t pause to check. In a couple of strides he reached Daenerys, head still low in a snaking motion, ears pinned and mouth agape as if to bite her. He meant to force her back into the river, maybe follow the current and outpace the fast spreading flames and exit in a safe spot. However, he wasn’t about to play wet-nurse. Daenerys was a burden that Cineviam didn’t want weighing him down. He could cover a greater distance, in less time, if he was all by himself than catering to a pregnant, perhaps wounded mare.

If she fought him, or fell behind – she’d get left behind.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

The pretty little dove responded lightning quick to his urging. A smug satisfaction settled deep in the pit of his stomach, as it always did when his influence yielded results. He hesitated only for a split second to take the rear, but he was still hot on her heels. Positioning himself so that he had easy access to nip at her nearest haunch and tender flank should the pregnant mare start to lag. He was mildly impressed by the punishing pace she set. To crack the whip further would only be cruel.

For a while – it was hard to tell how long when minutes felt like hours – there was only the sound of them crashing through the shallow water at the edge of the river. Cineviam had moved up alongside the snow-white mare without even realizing it. It had to be hard work, galloping for their lives while heavily pregnant, further impeded by water, although he had been mindful and pointed them with the current rather than against it. He saw the signs that she was starting to flag, her stride had shortened and the crimson flush could be seen deep within her flaring nostrils.

Shifting his weight to his haunches, he halted abruptly before she did and made a 180 degree turn to gauge the distance between them and the glow of the distant fire. Smoke billowed into the sky and he half expected an incandescent dragon to soar in hot pursuit, lashing its yellow and orange and vermillion tail, eyes flashing, roaring a challenge to all knights and would-be slayers. He hoped this wasn’t a head start in a spirited game of hide-and-seek. Now that the sun had slipped below the horizon and night enveloped Helovia, he hoped the God would also take a break or, at the very least, go and terrorize somewhere else. Fire would make a quick meal out of the shrivelled grass, the bloody tongues of conflagration spread fast and he had no nifty magic trick to snuff it out with rain or hail. It would be safest to exit Thistle Meadow altogether but taking a breather wasn’t out of the question.

Most of the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his veins had worn off and burning sensations blossomed where the Sun God’s wave of flames had seared him from above. A few large blisters littered his neck and withers, mostly contained to his left side. The dense feathers had protected his legs from the fire underfoot. Every step he took toward Daenerys irritated and enflamed the ones closest to his shoulder where his skin bunched and stretched the most. They weren’t life threatening and he would still be able to gallop and fight if a new situation surfaced. On the bright side, the burns would give the doctor and nurse something to do when he got home.

The touch on his coal-brushed shoulder caused him to stop and look down at her, crimson eyes threatening to swallow her up. He snorts abruptly, a black cloud of ash swirled thickly before him before falling to his hooves. Cineviam doesn’t return the nudge but he doesn’t move away either. There is another smile on Daenerys lips and he doesn’t understand it nor does he respond to her gratitude. “They are superficial injuries” he said gruffly before his blood-red eyes scrutinized her form. “Are you?”

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

The enduring smile he had become familiar with slowly left her face. It was replaced with a distracted sort of terror that gave him the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps an experienced mare would have recognized the signs of a fellow female going into labor but the snow-and-charcoal stallion just glanced around for the source of the change, completely baffled. There was no immediate danger from the flames they left behind so he looked back to her for more guidance. Her lilac eyes met his crimson ones before they looked behind him. He turned around in one smooth motion, half-expecting to confront some new threat emerging from the shadowy depths of the forest.

But there was nothing.

Dark ears flicked back to capture her words and the little gasp of pain, his neck twists so he looked back over his shoulder and hip at her. His stare was uncomprehending. Why would she need assistance walking? Just as he did not understand why her difficulty breathing had not lessened – if anything it had grown more ragged. The look of such potent poverty she gave him was alarming enough that it set his legs back into motion. She staggered toward him and Cineviam moved to re-examine the burns on her hind end that he had previously thought weren’t so bad. It was then he saw the surge of muscles in her belly as they tightened and relaxed in turns.

Realization did not dawn suddenly – it trickled slowly into his mind.

Daenerys was having her foal.

He felt more helpless now than just a moment ago. This was perhaps the one situation that Cineviam and his brothers had no training in. The whole process was unknown and the mere thought of it was mildly frightening. He was not the father of the child; the mare was not his responsibility. He could just leave and he doubted anyone would blame him. But she did not ask him to stay, did not ask for his help in the delivery, just to the Deep Forest. He groaned when he knows that he will provide the assistance she sought. A sound that doesn’t pass his lips just rumbled deep within his chest and vibrated up his throat.

He sidled up next to her to be the crutch for her to lean on while she walked the distance to the forest. The filth from his ashes no doubt transferred from his coat to her recently river-washed one. Small, slow steps were taken before he settled into whatever pace she set. Nothing good has come out of responding to her or asking questions. First an angry arsonist deity interrupted, the next time she went into labor and yet, “Will someone you know be in the Deep Forest to find you?” Then he kept an eye open for the sky to begin falling.

Let it be said that members of the all unicorn herd lend a helping hand to other species as well.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

He concentrated on the looming treeline, on matching her step-for-step so not to jostle the pregnant mare and cause more pain. Focused on anything but what was actually happening right next to him – up against him.

Daenery’s answered him, although not without a great deal of effort and he simply nodded. The soot-stained stallion had not gotten to inquire further about the moon’s children earlier and he had the sneaking suspicion that they were the same relations she spoke of now. This was not the time to investigate; the knowledge that his thoughts and feelings are usually correct would have to sustain him until next time.

When they reached the trees and shrubs, he did not immediately turn and flee. He helped her a bit father into the dark that the forest was aptly named after so that when he glanced behind them he could no longer see the open meadow and then he halted when she did. There she went thanking him again. “You’re welcome” he said gruffly, hoping that if he finally acknowledged her gratitude she would knock it off. His family was not raised to be forthcoming with gratefulness – they simply did what was required of them or taken what they wanted.

Blood red gaze followed her withdrawing form until she was out well out of sight and he continued to stare at the spot where she vanished until he could no longer hear her movements. The he spun about and thundered away at a ground-eating canter.

((and I think that finishes it))