the humidity of the day made the birthing hovel feel claustrophobic to zharille, who had given up the constant patrols of her lake in favor of the den; who no longer was so friendly to the child nutu, or welcoming to any man.
mezen-ka had gone to the palace. he had left food and herbs with her, at least within reach, believing the litter would arrive soon but not knowing that the labor would begin as swiftly as his paws crossed the border south.
zharille knew the sensations - remembered them from her first time. the churning of her gut; the pulse of pain that would sweep in and out again, with less break between. she rumbled notes of discomfort as these pains grew, and stood, and adjusted, and paced; then when she could not handle the suffocation of the den, she emerged with fervor to the gleaming gold of a full, burnished moon.
the children slipped from her over the course of an hour; one, two, three. each hitting the wilting summer grass above which the ogre loomed.
the first was a golden boy painted in that moonlight, smeared with blood (@Ibrahim); the second a girl as red as the palace of her father's people, which drew a flash of fangs from zharille (@Taliba); the last, dropped in to mud and briefly forgotten as zharille's rage was stirred, a final boy (@Aiman).
hours passed as they came free of her, and mezen-ka appeared; at a distance, perhaps aware by now that his feral wife was not welcoming.
the urge to tear them apart came in a torrent, and so too came the motherly tempering. as zharille reached for these little helpless lumps she reminds herself - her blood, her flesh, made them. here the clay of the soil holds them. here the grass fed by the lake has served as a nest.
no matter where they go, they are of greatwater.
those teeth shine in the moonlight - but she gathers them closer, plucks them free of debris and roughly begins to clean their fetid bodies. her children. her army.
mezen-ka had gone to the palace. he had left food and herbs with her, at least within reach, believing the litter would arrive soon but not knowing that the labor would begin as swiftly as his paws crossed the border south.
zharille knew the sensations - remembered them from her first time. the churning of her gut; the pulse of pain that would sweep in and out again, with less break between. she rumbled notes of discomfort as these pains grew, and stood, and adjusted, and paced; then when she could not handle the suffocation of the den, she emerged with fervor to the gleaming gold of a full, burnished moon.
the children slipped from her over the course of an hour; one, two, three. each hitting the wilting summer grass above which the ogre loomed.
the first was a golden boy painted in that moonlight, smeared with blood (@Ibrahim); the second a girl as red as the palace of her father's people, which drew a flash of fangs from zharille (@Taliba); the last, dropped in to mud and briefly forgotten as zharille's rage was stirred, a final boy (@Aiman).
hours passed as they came free of her, and mezen-ka appeared; at a distance, perhaps aware by now that his feral wife was not welcoming.
the urge to tear them apart came in a torrent, and so too came the motherly tempering. as zharille reached for these little helpless lumps she reminds herself - her blood, her flesh, made them. here the clay of the soil holds them. here the grass fed by the lake has served as a nest.
no matter where they go, they are of greatwater.
those teeth shine in the moonlight - but she gathers them closer, plucks them free of debris and roughly begins to clean their fetid bodies. her children. her army.
July 23, 2024, 02:33 AM
All she had ever known was darkness, warmth, and crowding. To come to learn upon being expelled into the cool evening air that there was more to existence left the girl's mouth agape upon hitting the earth. The sensation of life itself a shock to which she found her voice upon her first breath. Loud, unabashed, did she cry. A roar into the world she would eventually come to know.
Taliba would never know the same moonlight under which she was born. She would never know how that light would glint off her own mother's teeth. Her own life under threat for her very existence.
Taliba would not so easily yield her claim on life. She squirmed and writhed and cried and cried. She knew the cool night air, the wetness that clung to her body, the flattened grass, and the prickly detritus strewn upon the soil. These things, these sensations, were hers. And she would fight for them.
Puppy paws would wave wildly, battering the arms that held her as she was cleaned and eventually her mother's side as she granted her first opportunity to nurse. A new sensation. A warm belly. Her earlier battle was soon forgotten as she came to learn that her brothers were in this new world too. But Taliba would not share that teat, and would soon pick a new battle: batting her brothers away as she held her place.
Taliba would never know the same moonlight under which she was born. She would never know how that light would glint off her own mother's teeth. Her own life under threat for her very existence.
Taliba would not so easily yield her claim on life. She squirmed and writhed and cried and cried. She knew the cool night air, the wetness that clung to her body, the flattened grass, and the prickly detritus strewn upon the soil. These things, these sensations, were hers. And she would fight for them.
Puppy paws would wave wildly, battering the arms that held her as she was cleaned and eventually her mother's side as she granted her first opportunity to nurse. A new sensation. A warm belly. Her earlier battle was soon forgotten as she came to learn that her brothers were in this new world too. But Taliba would not share that teat, and would soon pick a new battle: batting her brothers away as she held her place.
July 25, 2024, 12:19 PM
ogre's son comes writhing with a squeal and a demand right out of the gates of hell. he isn't the only one either, as soon two other bodies join his.
drenched in hell's crimson, the golden ogre could care less of the little beasts he'll soon call sister and brother when his belly yearned to be filled. instincts lead him to the familiar yet dulled warmth of his mother. much like his siblings, he would never know how soon his flame was to be blown out once it was lit, and may never learn.
he latches onto a teat, finding that his sister had beaten him to the belly somehow. but he had bigger issues — like the stuff that still stuck to his fur. his gold pelt had already muddied under it, and soon it was caked in the den's dust. periodically, the boy would whip his pudgy body around, but nothing. for a while, he would sit like this, until finally his mother gave them a kiss that raked across their little backs, cleansing them of her filth and the filth of the world they were brought into.
what a miserable start to his life.
drenched in hell's crimson, the golden ogre could care less of the little beasts he'll soon call sister and brother when his belly yearned to be filled. instincts lead him to the familiar yet dulled warmth of his mother. much like his siblings, he would never know how soon his flame was to be blown out once it was lit, and may never learn.
he latches onto a teat, finding that his sister had beaten him to the belly somehow. but he had bigger issues — like the stuff that still stuck to his fur. his gold pelt had already muddied under it, and soon it was caked in the den's dust. periodically, the boy would whip his pudgy body around, but nothing. for a while, he would sit like this, until finally his mother gave them a kiss that raked across their little backs, cleansing them of her filth and the filth of the world they were brought into.
what a miserable start to his life.
July 25, 2024, 10:40 PM
There were eight teats in total on a wolf's underbelly when it came time to allow their children time to feast and nurture. Aiman, upon being born, was not aware of this however. There came a time and a place to observe things, but the poor creature's stomach was barren and desired something to fill itself with. The aching, infernal desire within the mound of flesh's stomach was incessant and bred forth a quick minded solution.
The other six teats did not matter. What mattered most was the one closest to him. The one that Taliba clung to, as a matter of fact. With little more than a second's worth of thought, Aiman used his weight to attempt to push his sister off of it to garner forth a meal. Pained, envious whimpers curled out of the whelp's maw and before long...
A battle of attrition broke out.
The other six teats did not matter. What mattered most was the one closest to him. The one that Taliba clung to, as a matter of fact. With little more than a second's worth of thought, Aiman used his weight to attempt to push his sister off of it to garner forth a meal. Pained, envious whimpers curled out of the whelp's maw and before long...
A battle of attrition broke out.
July 26, 2024, 12:27 AM
They're crying. He hears them and their feeble cries birth anew, and feels as though they are at his feet as he stares upon each toe embedded in the mud. Zharille keeps him at bay, and he does not pry. Stationed not far, waiting every moment and every hour that has passed with his wife's discomfort. They are here now, can one believe? Mesen-ka can not.
If he looks at them now, will he change? Why, he is not sure why it feels so impossible to lift head. Guarding as a soldier, as a warrior, kingsguard to his wedded queen, but left unwanted in these hours. The act of birth must have been painful if it aches ones chest so to hear it. Be alive!
They are still crying. He is a soldier. None would be allowed near, less they face the clash of teeth and be ripped to bone. Still, the man has not looked. Mesen-ka was never supposed to make it this far, and so perhaps that is why his face feels numb and heart lights alive when both eyes raise as the morning sun to see three children nestled into a mother. Burning, and heart racing its every beat. Sitting like a beaten dog at the door with cold feet, he sees now– he is a father. And they are beautiful.
If he looks at them now, will he change? Why, he is not sure why it feels so impossible to lift head. Guarding as a soldier, as a warrior, kingsguard to his wedded queen, but left unwanted in these hours. The act of birth must have been painful if it aches ones chest so to hear it. Be alive!
They are still crying. He is a soldier. None would be allowed near, less they face the clash of teeth and be ripped to bone. Still, the man has not looked. Mesen-ka was never supposed to make it this far, and so perhaps that is why his face feels numb and heart lights alive when both eyes raise as the morning sun to see three children nestled into a mother. Burning, and heart racing its every beat. Sitting like a beaten dog at the door with cold feet, he sees now– he is a father. And they are beautiful.
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