The Sunspire For in his eye were stars that burned

baby’s first murder scene!
but last o&d thread

At nearly a month old, Olive’s batch of babies were growing and becoming far more playful. They were growing into their limbs and forming little personalities; their eyes were bright with curiosity and their mouths were full of words. She loved to play with them, now that she had rebounded from the trauma of birth and reclaimed her slight and svelte figure, and the mother spent their long, summer afternoons tumbling with them in the long grasses and their late evenings telling stories and nestling into one another. Olive had never experiences something so beautiful, wholesome and all-consuming as this before!

The small family’s mid-day cavorting was cut short by a familiar call at the border. This had been a first — the quiet woman did not usually have visitors — but the tonality of the call was certainly not a first. How many times had Dakarai been on the other end of a border, calling for her attentions and her affections? It was either that, or she found him wounded and wishing to employ a nurse — there was no in between. At least, this time, he was at their border and not the victim of another senseless shedding of blood! At once, maybe his pain would have pleased her — but time and the sweet love of her children had dulled the pain he once caused. Even his assault on Cassiopeia went, for the most part, unspoken and forgotten; for her, at least.

Not finding a reason to not answer his call, the shakti mother steered her tribe of three towards the spire’s northernmost border. Oh, how wrong she had been!

It did not take the shrouded empath long to realize that this was no ordinary border call. Whatever transpired here had gone horribly awry — and some creature lay slain just beyond the territory’s scentguard. A small part of her immediately knew this was Dakarai and her heart was set aflutter; not for the man that lay dying, but for the three pups who followed her every movement. They were too far from the densite to turn back, and her better judgment told her not to call for Seabreeze or Liffey or a number of other women who could act as sitter. Olive tucked @Séamus, @Eleuthera and @Oaxaca within a blooming berry bush, hoping the tasty morsels would distract them. This was too much for them to see — almost too much for anyone to see. 

Olive strode cooly to the shadow of a man; a pool of spilled ink, growing ever larger. The scent of blood intermingled with that of Cassiopeia, and the woman immediately known what transgressions wrought Dakarai this fate. Though Olive could not say she didn’t agree with her daughter execution, she did not delight in it. He had been in quite a state for quite a while, after shacking up with that onyx-bitch and turning aggression upon his only daughter, and somehow knew that this might not be the most terrible of tragedies — albeit a very sad one, for this was a man that the woman had once loved and devoted her very soul to.

“again, darling?” she said with a most macabre humor. But it was okay, because he wouldn’t die here, would he?  Dakarai never died. This couldn’t be it, though the blood upon the earth traces out a fate that hinted otherwise. It just couldn't be.