![[Image: rhosheader.jpg]](https://image.ibb.co/ikNXOm/rhosheader.jpg)
Rhoswen ►
The story of her daughter's birth is an unexpected one; a fable of light infused with dark, an amalgamation which - even to the trained eye -was difficult to distinguish; who could determine where one shift of colour began and the other ceased? Some might say, however, that it was expected, had they witnessed the burgeoning lives of the bloodshot hurricane and her moonlit lover; perhaps they would have seen the germination of a spark cast into existence by the touch of his hand against her own as teens and thought to themselves in surety that the unlikely pair would see the tenuous mystery of passion before their sixth year. Rhoswen, herself, had never dared to acknowledge these whispers, these prophecies, until - after minutes, weeks, an eternity - later she found herself within a predicament she had never foreseen - or perhaps, furtively, she had? It mattered not, I suppose, for the consequence was the same: a child was to be brought forth from their confession, and there was nothing to be now said or done to change such a fact.
The fear of motherhood had been a languid weed furrowed deep within the marrow of her bones, left to bloom in the airless dark, and like creeping poison ivy it had woven it's way skyward, climbing up from the circular tips of her ballet-born feet to the crown of that elegant face made of ruby-glass. Suddenly, then, her throat had been laid bare to its skulking, sinister vines that encircled her jugular tighter and tighter until it was all she could do but choke on the sand in her mouth and the horror in her lungs. She was not ready, she felt only a child still! How long had this girl of forest fires and cyclone longed for independence, for the proud stamp of adulthood? Only, once finally in her grasp, Rhoswen realised that it was not what she had dreamt of: it was long, haunted nights and longer tired days. It was the furrow in her brow, it was the ire on her tongue, it was everything she had seen in her father's eyes. Life, it seemed, had finally lifted its deceptively seductive veil.
Had Rhoswen known of the invasion that had plagued her Capitol just mere days before this arduous journey home, she would never have set foot outside the borders of Denocte. Foolishly, the auburn mare had slipped away in the depth of night - hoping to avoid the escort who had been assigned to accompany her home. Rhos had not wanted company, her head had been to full of thought to spare meaningless words with a nosy envoy. A mistake she had soon come to regret. Moving as she did, with a limp in her step from her aching blood-stained hips through the Canyon at the close of the longest day she had ever known, Rhos still remained blissfully unaware of the impending doom that lurked in every bend, every dark corner. A single thought rang thunderously among the synapses of her mind like a the horn of a freight train, endless and unyielding: water. Her body was wrung dry: parched lips bruised the air with their brittle flesh, her throat a tunnel of torridity. The thirst which tormented her seemed to erase all other pain, all other fatigue. Rhoswen wondered if they would even make it to the Capitol.
You see, she was not alone.
Trailing weightlessly in the wake of an auburn shadow, the babe quivered. A child, the child. Premature, and exhausted from the sun, the filly uttered a soundless plea to the Mother she instinctively followed. Rhoswen had not been expecting her so soon; perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was nothing at all, but upon a series of unfortunate events, at dawn, the red-haired woman had found herself struck by a pain so strong she had crumbled to her knees, mid-journey. Beneath a nameless tree in a nameless land, she had heaved and roiled and sweated her daughter into this world alone. At such point there was no turning back, she was too close to Solterra to turn back to Denocte, and so her only hope had been to make it to the border before nightfall. Exhausted, Rhos had barely studied the frail roseate girl with a ghost's blue-so-blue eyes; the shock was too immense, the instinct to push for their safety too strong. They could not linger out in this realm without protection, unaware that perhaps Solterra was more dangerous in unto itself. The thought of Raum barely crossed her mind - again, blissfully uninformed of his crime against Bexley Briar and the recent revelation of his identity.
It was dusk by the time they reached Elatus Canyon's final bend. The city was an hour's walk still, and Rhoswen was not sure her own legs would carry her that far, let alone the splinter-like limbs of her newborn. The weary mother paused beneath an overhang, watching the shadows grow longer with each passing moment - this was a new fear, one that encompassed not just herself but the angular little figure at her breast. Softly, driven by a small innate warmth within, Rhos blew a wash of hot air over her child's head, in reassurance that everything would be alright, if only, perhaps, to console herself.
The fear of motherhood had been a languid weed furrowed deep within the marrow of her bones, left to bloom in the airless dark, and like creeping poison ivy it had woven it's way skyward, climbing up from the circular tips of her ballet-born feet to the crown of that elegant face made of ruby-glass. Suddenly, then, her throat had been laid bare to its skulking, sinister vines that encircled her jugular tighter and tighter until it was all she could do but choke on the sand in her mouth and the horror in her lungs. She was not ready, she felt only a child still! How long had this girl of forest fires and cyclone longed for independence, for the proud stamp of adulthood? Only, once finally in her grasp, Rhoswen realised that it was not what she had dreamt of: it was long, haunted nights and longer tired days. It was the furrow in her brow, it was the ire on her tongue, it was everything she had seen in her father's eyes. Life, it seemed, had finally lifted its deceptively seductive veil.
---
Had Rhoswen known of the invasion that had plagued her Capitol just mere days before this arduous journey home, she would never have set foot outside the borders of Denocte. Foolishly, the auburn mare had slipped away in the depth of night - hoping to avoid the escort who had been assigned to accompany her home. Rhos had not wanted company, her head had been to full of thought to spare meaningless words with a nosy envoy. A mistake she had soon come to regret. Moving as she did, with a limp in her step from her aching blood-stained hips through the Canyon at the close of the longest day she had ever known, Rhos still remained blissfully unaware of the impending doom that lurked in every bend, every dark corner. A single thought rang thunderously among the synapses of her mind like a the horn of a freight train, endless and unyielding: water. Her body was wrung dry: parched lips bruised the air with their brittle flesh, her throat a tunnel of torridity. The thirst which tormented her seemed to erase all other pain, all other fatigue. Rhoswen wondered if they would even make it to the Capitol.
You see, she was not alone.
Trailing weightlessly in the wake of an auburn shadow, the babe quivered. A child, the child. Premature, and exhausted from the sun, the filly uttered a soundless plea to the Mother she instinctively followed. Rhoswen had not been expecting her so soon; perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was nothing at all, but upon a series of unfortunate events, at dawn, the red-haired woman had found herself struck by a pain so strong she had crumbled to her knees, mid-journey. Beneath a nameless tree in a nameless land, she had heaved and roiled and sweated her daughter into this world alone. At such point there was no turning back, she was too close to Solterra to turn back to Denocte, and so her only hope had been to make it to the border before nightfall. Exhausted, Rhos had barely studied the frail roseate girl with a ghost's blue-so-blue eyes; the shock was too immense, the instinct to push for their safety too strong. They could not linger out in this realm without protection, unaware that perhaps Solterra was more dangerous in unto itself. The thought of Raum barely crossed her mind - again, blissfully uninformed of his crime against Bexley Briar and the recent revelation of his identity.
It was dusk by the time they reached Elatus Canyon's final bend. The city was an hour's walk still, and Rhoswen was not sure her own legs would carry her that far, let alone the splinter-like limbs of her newborn. The weary mother paused beneath an overhang, watching the shadows grow longer with each passing moment - this was a new fear, one that encompassed not just herself but the angular little figure at her breast. Softly, driven by a small innate warmth within, Rhos blew a wash of hot air over her child's head, in reassurance that everything would be alright, if only, perhaps, to console herself.
@Seraphina sooo have an exhausted postnatal rhos and tinytot sabi!
