Like a wraith he arrived at the base of the mountains, a bundle of blazing star and rosinweed held tenderly between his black velveteen lips. The scent of woodsmoke and jasmine followed him, lingering lovingly within the fat ebony curls surrounding his rugged face and spreading elegant fingers throughout his mahogany skin. Reichenbach placed the dainty collection at his feet, silver eyes studying the vast mountains with a wild, ill-contained joy - this was his home, as was all of Denocte, it's wild and oftentimes savage beauty akin to his own chaotic heart. Though he didn't often linger in the mountains (most times he travelled through on his way to Veneror Peak or to the rest of Novus) he had found that he delighted in camping at their base.
Today, however, he had been simply bringing the flowers to dry in a nearby overhang, where he would collect them in a weeks time on his way to the temple. Reichenbach had never really considered himself a devout man - his was a devotion lived through the fullness of life, the bright, endless vitality that followed him and filled his great heart. Yet he had always managed to find time to drop off small sacrifices for their patron Goddess, delighting in the treacherous journey up Veneror and enjoying the time spent in the wilderness. He considered the mountains in all their glory, eyeing the passage through which everyone had to travel if they wished to enter Denocte - as Sovereign he would need to organise a watch for the path, someone or multiple someones to ensure no danger or harm befell the citizens of the Night Court.
A pleased expression crossed his rough cut face at his new position - who would have thought royalty would sit well on a gypsies shoulders? For he was wildness and starfall, a forest fire, a hurricane, he loved fiercely and without restrictions - and perhaps this was why he had been chosen as the Sovereign of the Night Court. He had been chosen for the ferocious love and dedication to his land and his people, the wild laughter that could be heard booming throughout the Court, even the sweetness with which he treated his gang of orphans.
Nora
a symphony of colors or words
that fly together like a flock of birds
A memory...
Those overhangs resemble ghastly…leaden dew claws; they jut out randomly from the near vertical wall of bumpy, disorganized slate. Irritably, I follow (at ground level) that washed-out ridge-line; always hugging the dingy blockade of this bulbous ‘sanctuary.’ On the opposing side, a mighty evergreen woodland; massive, fragrant cedar -- spruce and pine – all of whom are held in check by our fortification, our cage. During the rainy season, the occasional cluster would shift their loyalties…and down, down they would come…tumble and crash as they haphazardly sink into virgin soil, zigging-zagging our unofficial walkway.
Nearly a week of meticulous searching hasn’t bore fruit. Between the two of us, we’d uncovered twelve or more possibilities. But none could stand the criteria of my expectations. Shallow, narrow, wet, infested. Sprinkled with the pungent essence of bear, coyote and wolverine. Frustration ebbs, growling…clawing for the release from anxiety, pressure.
Our finale is nearing. Every hour…my protruding gut implies, suggests the end of pregnancy with tingling cramps that gravitate around my midsection and undercarriage.
Understanding/expectations regarding the matter of labor/birth is defined by information gleamed from rumor... There are few (if any) expectant mares in the basin. And gossip alone couldn't bridge the gaping chasm of unease…it didn’t ease the swollen terror as it consumes and defines the framework of my wakeful hours. Negativity feeds into all the fabricated possibilities imaginable...my subconscious glowers, rationale arguments sprouting from the tip of her brim, 'you aren't the first or the last to bring life into this world,' a disjointed gasp/sigh is all response she’d earn as our occupant nosedives, kicking the roof of my torso. The child drives those tiny, velvet feet into various nooks; reworking my innards to better suit his/hers unknown whims.
Swiftly, agitated -- my muzzle flinches rearward -- tilting under the arch of one half-bent wing. A tender snout nudges the swirl of color beneath, while my paternal compassion is whispered with a native tongue, "etre facile." Sleeping of late has become a game of perfect timing…and no small amount of luck. Those gentle, fluttering nudges (captivating my boundless intrigue) are painful kicks and jabs. Often focused with seemingly unwarranted affection for my diaphragm and bladder.
Pale as bone in the overcast light, a curly haired buck leaps suddenly from the wooded grove, startling me. Irises sip upon ivory fur and tawny horn, but he doesn't tarry astride my path. He lunges (without a glance) toward that insurmountable barricade. A snarled breath catches in the back of my throat...impressively, his toes latch upon narrow indention's (nearly invisible) seemingly chiseled into the bedrock over many a millennium of cloven feet.
-----
Present...
Irony shoves us to the threshold, mocking our circumstance with memories of peace…and sanctuary. Daring us to become complacent again…trusting…again. Granite, marbled walls; irises lift, following their height into the crystalline sky above. Pinions loosen, a wary gesture that reveals my sudden (uncharacteristic) uncertainty for our choice of habitation. Lazily, my subconscious observes from afar...she doesn’t bother sparring with my torn ideals, even when they bleat for me to shy from the foredooming barricade and return to our sunlit haven…
Noise ahead, thundering feet – heavyset
Curious velvet's twist head-ward; realization emerges from that inner conflict, pinging reality with vague sharpness, “Noah?” Papery nostrils tremble apart, sucking on the tit of humid, coniferous air. The eagle had taken our swallow in the opposite direction; searching (as I do) for a den that would suit our intentions. Assumptions rise, blossoming like fog in the dawn, ‘he wouldn’t come from that direction.’ Forelimbs stutter, halting my approach as the dull shadows birth a dark, powerful man...another titan.
We continue wandering from our meeting with Noah, both of us feeling better at having at least tried to soothe his agitation. Damaris keeps up with me now, nearly touching me as we stride along. Will you ever have children again? Damaris asks me, the question innocent and curious. I don't reply at first, for there are so many factors. The weight that Noah feels with having a daughter to look after left and right. I never did much of that when I was in Helovia, leaving the mothering to the mothers. And protection? Well, sad to say I left that to them too, or to the herd leaders. I snort, still not answering. I have Victorina. She is young, so young. She might as well be another daughter to me. Similar, perhaps, but not the same. She's right, but I won't admit it. And who would be the mother, anyway? I cannot bear children myself of course, I'm not built that way.
An image of Weir immediately pops into my head, and I shake it vigorously, giving myself a headache as I try to rid the image. She seems fond of me but why would that lovely lady want to have a family with me? Besides, I cannot promise to be the upstanding gentleman that I want to be.
Rostislav... Her soft speech breaks my twisting thoughts and alerts me to the fact that I'm approach two known shapes. One, a man I consider one of my best friends, who also happens to be the lord of the land. The other, one I don't know nearly as well but certainly appropriate to stumble upon given my musings. "Reichenbach! Nora!" My accent colors my speech but the happiness I feel at seeing friendly and familiar faces. I pull up short of their personal bubbles, and Damaris sits down at my hooves, glancing up at me before turning to stare at the two equines that are unknown to her. "Greetings my friends.. this is Damaris."
WC: 334 Tag: @Reichenbach @Nora | Don't mind me crashing ;) Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak
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