Hideaway Strath ceathairéad

what even is this post? i don't know, lmao.

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In Roarke’s world there had existed only peace. He simply came to be. He simply is. He floats about in his sac, occasionally stretching into one of the other things he felt within the womb, unaware that his sac was shared. He should have consumed the other thing in his sac. He does not. She (though he is not so aware of gender or even, really, what they are) becomes. Like him. Roarke has no concept of time, no way to grasp such a thing as he is as infinite as all young gods. The peace erupts when the tremors start. They stir him from his slumber, they disrupt his serene swimming. He snuggles against the other body in his sac as archaic instincts are awoken within him. Proof that he exists, that he is lives. Their shared space has not given him much room to grow and it has made her weak. He senses it even though he has no understanding of it. So he curls close when the tremors happen as if he can absorb the quakes of his mother’s womb with his body and shield Her from it. There are prolonged moments of peace and he forgets until another tremor rocks them. He does not know how long this goes on for — he is oblivious to the world outside of Lotte’s womb and the turmoil and stress that has been placed upon his mother’s body. He is innocent. He is untouced by the rapture of ruin that threatens his life and the lives of the others.

He does not know that the ruin claims two. The tremors are the most violent he has felt and he stirs, uneasy within the shared space, straining and impatient. For what he cannot know. As his litter mates are pushed from Lotte’s womb the he stretches within their shared sac and recognizes in a very rudimentary manner that isn’t overly coherent that he has space. Finally! Perhaps with space he can grow and She can grow strong. This peace does not last. Time passes before he is swept up in the next violent tremor as he and his twin are labored into the world. His body is the first to feel the pull of gravity to a world that he is blind and deaf to. To a world whose ruin will not touch him yet. The protective sac around them cushions the fall to the den floor and he cushions his twin in turn. He breached the membrane that had been their nourishment, their entire world and latched blindly onto his mother’s lip and begun to suckle as instinct bade him to. He is unaware that he is quite far from his mark and that he still has (gross) secretions slicking his iced snow pelage like oil. He is dislodged with a defiant cry of protest that he feels through the vibration of his vocal chords but he is utterly deaf to. The smooth of his mother’s tongue against his face briefly knocks him breathless — it is both rough and warm, pleasant and strange and he wiggles as if to escape the bath (probably a good indication to the future) but he is weak and exhausts himself before he can worm himself too far. It is with Lotte’s guidance and nudge against his pudgy belly that he makes it to her breast at all. He is squished up against another small body but he is instantly distracted by what he can weakly smell as his mother’s sweet milk and he noses Lotte’s breast, nuzzling himself against her bosom as if he can melt into her fur as her warmth washes over him. He mouths at fur in his search for what he instinctively knows will sustain him with life, leaving an unattractive trail of slimy baby saliva (sorry mama!) upon her fur before he finds what he seeks and latches onto a teat as he previously latched onto her lip and suckles, the warm mother’s milk sliding down his throat, a burst of succulent saccharinity a pleasant discovery to his taste-buds. He feels his twin’s absence though after his belly is full and he lets out a wail for Eirlys, demanding and pained all at once. Where was she?

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