Blacktail Deer Plateau Bergfrue

set for March 6

She knew when she awakened that the time had come. She'd grown restless, and felt the muscles in her side begin to contract and harden. She bid all others save for @Rusalka to leave the large, mossy cave so that the two might welcome in their newest brood of children in peace. It would be Solveig's third time giving birth- and nature was kind to her. 

By the end of her labour, four pups lay nestled at her side, healthy and hearty, learning how to nurse. 

"We used to wait nine days to name them," She breathed to her mate, once she had settled. "At least, nine days to name them properly. I would like to do this again," She said. "Give them a name of mine now, and then in nine days, you will give them their real name, hmm?" She suggested.

rusalka lingers near as solveig labors, a little surprised that he is welcomed into the birthing room and everyone else were commanded to leave. it takes an effort not to pace, not to let the nerves he feels thrumming like a second heartbeat in his stomach cloy their way up his throat. but he is nervous — and he wasn't even the one giving birth!

rusalka watches, this time, the birth of each of his newest batch of children where they nestle against solveig; nursing, his golden gaze misty with tears unshed. he slides down onto his belly before her; humbled and awestruck and pious in solveig's presence. women were goddesses, truly!

they are beautiful, his deep timbre wobbles, but the cairn patriarch is not embarrassed. this is his wife. these are his children and he has just witnessed the most incredible thing! you are beautiful. he presses a kiss to her cheek, brushing his muzzle featherlight over each baby cairn's back.

his heart full to bursting while wishing their siblings were here to meet them.

of course. rusalka murmurs, more than happy to oblige with her traditions. what is this tradition? the nine day wait? it is different than the cairn's tradition — nothing could be as bad as the drop to rusalka, if he were asked — and he is always interested in learning more about her culture.

smol ty post. <3

the unnamed wiggles against his siblings, other strange squirmy things that he cannot see nor smell nor hear but can feel. there is a soft shiver as his father's muzzle brushes butterfly wing light against his back but as soon as the touch was there and acknowledged it was gone and forgotten. his plight is simple, and once he finds a teat, he latches on and suckles until his belly is full and slumber overtakes him.

She crooned to her babes, admiring the soft velveteen fur- noting how they seemed to take after their father with dark pelts. They would change with age, sure- she had been dark grey when she had been born, or so she had been told- and so she harboured some hope yet, proud as it was, that one of them might lighten to look like her.

She smiled, tired but warm with pride, at her husband. If they did all end up looking like him…That wouldn’t be too bad either. 

”They have simple names; named after either the Gods or other animals, which will look over them, and protect them in their earliest days. Some say it might invite those Gods to continue to watch over them for the rest of their lives. On the ninth day, we give them their full name, the one they will know for the rest of their lives.” She explained.

Birth wasn’t expected- not when she existed in a literal paradise. Hunger and thirst were strangers to her yet, as were cold and discomfort. The only indication of change were the contractions which shoved her against her siblings. She had no voice to protest with- that is, until she was squeezed through a narrow passage and out into an atmosphere which was much colder. 

Swiftly, she found warmth- and food. The hungry girl supped at her mother’s tear, deaf to the voices that spoke over her, keen only to wrestle a prime spot for feeding for herself.

rusalka desires to croon praises to solveig: of how they are perfect, of how she did good but bites them back. some things do not need to be said, and he'd prefer to show it with the adoration and love in his eyes, in his touches. an elder of warsaw islands once told me that all children are born looking like their father. a perfect reflection of them from the womb. rusalka murmurs out loud, unknowingly following her train of thought. i suppose there was some truth to that wisdom.

what rusalka does not say was the second half of that: that children came out looking like their father so the father didn't kill them, so that they knew the child was theirs. that was a very cairn thing to say. something his father would definitely say, and rusalka was trying so very hard to break generational trauma.

to not become his father.

the one child, as he moves, appears to bear the familiar cairn rib markings, diverting his gaze away from his wife, despite that he was listening to her as she delves into her tradition.

rusalka knows ... something of her gods. small tidbits that he has carefully filed away because they are important to her even if he can't bring himself to covert to her faith. it was hard for him, to believe in any sort of god thanks to kraken and the harsh ways of his kin.

he studies each of his newborn children carefully; considering. the dark boy with cairn markings, he gestures to tyraxes. he will be raptor. though he didn't look like much beyond a pudgy puptato ( really none of them did ), but he was going by his gut feeling. the grey boy, he gestures to @Arrax ... we can call him thor.

and then his gaze turns to the twins. any idea for the twins? he asks, wanting her to have input on these simple names, despite that they would likely not stay with them after their nine days were up.

<3!

 

He entered the world with an almighty cry of protest despite the quick and uncomplicated birth of he and his siblings. The cold air was a shock as it hit his skin, a sensation that was soon replaced with the rough jostling of fellow wiggling bodies as each puppy vied for a spot at the roundtable to feast. The grey cub kicked and squirmed against them, the floor, his mother's belly, as if desperate to show his discontent with this new world before suddenly calming as his father delicately brushed his nose over each child. It was then the boy – known as Thor, at least for now – quietened as he finally found a teat and latched on greedily, nestled amongst the warmth of his mother's belly and his brother and sisters.

She smiled. ”If they keep their father’s looks for their whole life, I will have many grandchildren,” She said, muscles twinging in her side as she laughed softly. She thought of Thyra- her wayward daughter, gone off into the wilderness as she approached the cusp of her own womanhood. She wondered if she might one day come back with children of her own.

The one with the rib markings was given a name first- Solveig wasn’t surprised, knowing that that pattern was coveted by her husband. Next, he named the pudgy, charcoal boy, bringing a smile to her face as he was given a strong name. 

”Raptor and Thor,” She mused, as she looked to the twins next. ”They will be Raven and Freya,” She said, choosing yet another bird to watch over her son’s health, and another God to watch over her daughter.