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curtain call; amalthea & alina & thane
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Topic Started: Jul 6 2011, 03:54 PM (381 Views)
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kimmys
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Jul 6 2011, 03:54 PM
Post #1
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Being pregnant was worse than any other condition that she could remember. It sapped her strength, her energy, her desire. The great cremello mare, the one that had ruled at the side of Thane for so many years was now nothing more than a washed up blimp that couldn’t even manage to find herself a satisfactory home.
Before she met Thane she’d been the wet dream of so many stallions that she’d had all the choice in the world for her future paramour; and instead of choosing one that would love her and cherish her, she’d chosen power over sense. Had struggled to the top and wavered there like a leaf on a stem until he’d disappeared and taken the tree beneath her with him. With nothing left to lead, and the marks of five pregnancies already on her body, she was a used commodity. No one wanted a mare already aged to the double digits to raise their offspring…
Heavens, half the males wandering around the Homeless grounds were either her blood relations or young enough to be her son. No one had wanted her, and rather than subject herself to it again, she’d stumbled back to the Faults and wished for death to finally take her away.
And she thought it had at one point, or at least madness had overtaken her mind. Hadn’t she dreamed of Thane returning? Of those husky, whispered promises in her ear? Of the acts they committed on that moonless night?
She thought she had dreamed them, but the swelling through her middle had quite matter of factly shown her otherwise. As she stood on the border of the mainland, her blue eyes flicked toward the roundness of her stomach with resignation and sadness. He had left her with another child, another burden, another nameless face to him, and disappeared before his promises had even settled in her ears. It was likely he had left that night, while she was still sleeping, off on whatever foolish mission his pride commanded him to do.
And she was stuck with the consequence.
The life inside of her rebelled against its confinements and the briefest of contractions, the shape of her hoof - for Amalthea was sure this was a girl - stretching the skin of her barrel. Too used to the pain by now, no sound escaped her, and her resigned gaze flickered back to the Foaling Quarry across the water.
He had promised her that he would be there, that he would help protect her aging body from the dangers of an unknown area, that he would be her solid rock. And she had hoped that he would see the effort it took and be sorry for the five pregnancies she’d endured, that he’d require no more of her. But that was a silly lie, told to her own mind for temporary comfort. Why would he keep this promise above all of the others; this one that was most contrary to his very dark nature.
Still, as she swims across the water separating the Quarry from the Mainlands, and even as her pale cream hooves find purchase in the soft sand, she looks for him. With the water lapping at her knees where she stands, so close to the Quarry now, she cannot help but look for him on land while she catches her breath. Cannot help it.
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`d e p p
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Jul 6 2011, 05:28 PM
Post #2
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I think everybody's nuts.
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He should have done this years ago. Even at an early age, his disgraceful vermin of a son had shown clear signs of betrayal. Instead, the Lipizzaner had gone against all his instincts and let the boy live, grow, and eventually transform into a strong competitor. All because of what—feelings? The revolting thought sent a disgusted snort vibrating his ebony nostrils. The affection and pride of the cremello mare had been obvious, a flicker of self-admiration lighting up her eyes whenever she looked at their son. At the time, Thane didn’t want to take that pleasure away from her; for in reality, the stallion had hoped their son would be the beginning of the legacy he dreamed to leave behind. How deceitful this empty hope could be.
Now, too many years later, Thane was finally determined enough to erase the son that stained his prodigy. Eventually he had found the location of the silvery dishonor, but once again those dangerous feelings had stopped him from the bloody act. The Lipizzaner had returned to his rightful lands for a single night, only to see and feel her for what could have been the last time. Pale eyelids closed, his thoughts relishing in those intimate interactions for the briefest of moments, before his opened eyes hardened the usual heartless mask over his features. This was it.
A devilish sneer had crawled a crossed Cian’s pale lips at the sight of his loathed sire approaching. There was no sign of surprise or fear in the deep blue eyes, only excitement that this time had finally come. Both stallions were fully aware of the hate towards the other, and both were more than ready to put an end to their enemy’s life. “You have finally built up the courage to face me, old man; it’s about time.” Cian’s smooth, velvety tone was laced with a dangerous malice, the dark mirth smoldering in his sapphire eyes. Thane’s large head rose, black eyes narrowing with the insult as he took a step forward. His deep voice was a husky growl, a menacing counterpart of his son’s. “You have been the one running away, fool. I’ve been waiting for some degree of attack from a supposed threat like you, but there was nothing. Shows the level of your cowardness, boy.”
Cian’s eyes narrowed, pink lips curling back threateningly to reveal his teeth, enticing his father to attack. Thane was not one to show mercy. With the speed of an equine much younger, the Lipizzaner lunged, black lips parting as his yellowed teeth sunk into the muscled flesh of his son’s shoulder. A soft hiss was all that escaped Cian’s throat, his ears disappearing into the silky locks of his mane. However, the silvery male had honed all his fighting skills and knowledge to perfection. Quickly, his sharp teeth latched onto Thane’s right ear, tearing the tender flesh to pieces. The older stallion moved to the side, keeping his hold firm. Cian now dived toward Thane’s exposed neck, his strong jaw muscles tightening as his teeth buried deep.
Caught off guard, the Lipizzaner released his hold and reared back, lashing out with his hooves. Cian narrowly danced out of the way, using all his strength to pull his father down by the neck, freeing his grasp as he turned and kicked his opponent in the skull. What happened next was a blur to Thane, leaving him crumpled on the ground, body damaged. The aged stallion looked weakly up at his son, his good eye narrowing in furious hate. Both males were bleeding and exhausted, though the victorious flame smoldered in Cian’s blue eyes. The silvery stallion sneered, and lowered his lips to his sire’s tattered ear. “You’re disappointing, Thane; I expected more from you.” Thane’s gaze never wavered as he watched his son disappear, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes.
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It was two days after the encounter with his insufferable son. Thane had eventually lifted himself up, and limped away in the direction he knew he had to go. The stallion now dragged the remains of his scarred body onto the shores of the Foaling Quarry, his still-bleeding wounds reddening the waves surrounding him. They stung fiercely from the salt water, but he didn’t have the strength to move himself completely onto the sand. He simply lay there, half in the water, a fraction of the stallion he once was. Countless bruises and cuts colored his white hide, his ruined ear limp, dripping blood down his face. There was an imprint of Cian’s hoof beneath his left eye, leaving the skin swollen and the eye partially blind. The injury on his throat was deep, and by far the most painful. Every breath throbbed, the air seeming to push more blood onto the warm sand.
Thane was sure he was going to die then, right there on the shore. How ironic it would be for one life to end where many others begin. His good ear twitched at an echo of a sound, the noise of disturbed water shaking him out of his stupor. Weakly, Thane raised his head, dark eyes blinking several times before they focused on the mare. He looked at her for a moment or two, taking in the sight of her beauty before he tried to stand. He coughed and heaved with the effort, the sounds raspy and hollow. Eventually he was able to walk forward, limping severely and struggling to breath with broken ribs.
The once-proud stallion stumbled many times, falling to his knees, flaring his nostrils with the exertion to continue. Ultimately he collapsed a few feet away from the mare, his weight sending sprays of water as he fell. Thane’s exposed muscles shook from the pain, his jaw clenched and eyes void. He looked to the mare above him, a weak attempt at a smile flickering a cross his lips. Drops of blood fell to the sand and water, the scarlet liquid gleaming beneath Prime’s rays. “Amalthea…” Thane was able to breath, his voice raspier than usual, a faint gurgling from his opened throat. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking his joy in seeing her. The stallion’s tired gaze never left her beautiful eyes, his left ear swiveling to focus on her. “I kept my promise, Amal; I did it—” Was all he was able to say before coughing to clear his air passage.
He did this for her.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Jul 6 2011, 08:03 PM
Post #3
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[When her first glance through the forestry fails her, both blue eyes drop to the churning water beneath her and she watches as two crystalline drops slide across the planes of her cheeks to the ocean below. There is no misery, just a cold acceptance of her reality, and stiffly the mare shifts her weight and draws her knee up to step forward, although the reddish tint of her knee distracts her. She has no cuts, and never before has the ocean played paint by numbers on her coat. The water below is dark enough to betray no secrets, and grateful for the distraction from her misery, she looks up into a whole new kind of pain.
Her first instinct is to call him an apparition, a fabrication of a tired and world-worn mind, but that can’t be right. She would never cast him in such a painful light. Never.
He stumbles as he moves closer, further dispelling the illusion, and the tears in her blue eyes that pool and dribble over her lids. There is something wrong with him, something deeper than just the wounds that threaten to choke the life out of the stallion she has loved. His manic grin, the desperation in his eyes are so anti-Thane that she is embarrassed for him, sorry for him, and ashamed for being any of the above. He was supposed to be her protector, the stallion she looked to for guidance, and despite the fact that he had proven to her many times that he had no interest in being any of the above, it was a different matter to see him incapable of the duties. Fear brought tremors to her bones, and she shook in the water as this ghost of her mate fought his way in her direction.
Too stunned to react, she didn’t move. Didn’t set course for land, where they would have to eventually move anyway. Didn’t say anything or move or smile or encourage him. She was terrified for him, of the possibility that one wrong move on her part would send him crumbling like so may beach front hoof prints. Blue eyes watch as he finally falls in front of her, sending a surge of water up past her knees and making her worry for his gaping throat. She hates to see him hurt but she is petrified by the thought of him dying in front of her. At the same time, she does not have the time to seek out a healer. Her pains are intensifying, threatening to squeeze her very breath from her lungs, and it is this natural, normal, familiar pain that breaks the dangerous trance she’s woven herself into.
Tentatively, the tears still spilling down her silken skin, she steps toward him taking care to slide her feet along the bottom to avoid hitting him. It is only when she can finally pull out the familiar scent of him, the musky aroma of Thane, underneath all of the blood and gore that their situation hits her. The press of her muzzle to his crest, the soft shushing, her own terrified tremors as well as the frantic kicking of her offspring couple with the taste of his blood to render the scene in crystalline detail in her mind.
“Shhh, Thane, you did. Of course you did.” Tenderly, trying to find a place on him that wasn’t wounded, she touches the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him long enough to quiet the worst of her violent tremors and to try and figure out a solution.
He needed to be out of the water, that much was clear. And she couldn’t give birth away from his prone body, couldn’t leave him at all with this painful knowledge that his time was short, but nor could she defy mother nature that demanded she find somewhere to give birth. Preferably not underwater. Her voice is soft, all motherly caress mixed in with the fear that he seems to lack. Perhaps he is unaware of his condition or has simply stopped feeling it, but she can’t ignore it. Her past, present, and to this point, presumed future is staring her in the face with every intention of disappearing.
“Thane, love, we need…” she swallows, fearing the task ahead, “we need to get to land. I can’t give birth here.” It is a lie - she is less concerned about herself than him right now. She still has time but she cannot tell the same of him. And the salt water contaminating already life threatening wounds, adding pain he does not need only makes her suddenly more frantic. “Thane, up.”
There is no point on him not already open and sore, not bruised and bloody, so she steels herself and grabs what seems to be the most solid point of his crest and pulls upward. He needs to get up.
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`d e p p
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Jul 7 2011, 02:16 PM
Post #4
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I think everybody's nuts.
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His vision blurred, the edges growing hazy and working like a disease towards the center. Thane blinked, pressing his eyelids together tightly before opening them once again; he could see clearly. The cycle repeated itself several times, the gentle touch of the mare’s muzzle and her reassuring noises the only things giving him consciousness. Blackened nostrils flared and curled with his strangled breath, the beating of his heart loud and quick against his wounded ribcage. All the stallion could hear were his heartbeat and stifled breathing, before her voice weaved its way through his confusion. Of all the years he had lived with the cremello beauty, not once had she ever spoken to him like she did then. Her voice was soft, nurturing, and void of her usual stubborn authority.
His rapid breathing lessened with her tone, but he could sense the worried fear she was trying to hide. Thane’s pale brow—for once—furrowed in concern. As Amal placed her muzzle on the top of his head, his stiff, sore muscles flexed as he lifted his lips enough to weakly nuzzle her check. His eyes closed for a moment as he breathed in her scent, before he relaxed his muscles with a sigh, a new stream of blood slowly oozing from his throat. The Lipizzaner grimaced, his ebony lips twitching.
The stallion’s impaired gaze dropped to the ground, listlessly watching the water swirling around his sliced skin with the rhythmic coming-and-going of the waves. But he couldn’t muse for long, as his mare spoke again. “Thane, love, we need…we need to get to land. I can’t give birth here.” For a second he just looked up at her with a confused expression, as if it took a moment for her words to register in his mind. Then his eyes widened, the swollen skin on his face seeming to stretch over the inward abrasion with the action. “Oh…of course.” Thane whispered, trying to comprehend—he really did not understand the whole birthing situation. However, that wasn’t the biggest of his problems: he needed to move again.
The Lipizzaner thrust out both of his forelegs, taking several deep breaths as he called upon the effort to heave himself up. It was then that he felt the unexpected pull of Amal as she grabbed the back of his neck, attempting to drag him onto his feet. Thane’s good ear flattened against the knotted strands of his mane, his lips curling back in a growl as he shook her off. “Get off me, mare—I’m not that crippled!” His voice was a husky snarl, the usual callous flame smoldering in his eyes as he hauled himself up alone. The stallion’s jaw clenched as he fought back the pain, refusing to make the sounds of agony that crawled up his throat. He stood there, exposed muscles quivering as he sought balance. Gradually the tired mask of suffering returned to his features, the flame in his eyes flickering once before disappearing.
Thane glanced once at Amal. “Sorry.” He muttered, almost inaudibly, turning his attention in the direction of where he’d have to go. Almost hesitantly he began walking slowly forward, flinching with every step. The Lipizzaner hadn’t meant to snap so vehemently at the mare, but he couldn’t help the testosterone-controlled pride that still infected his heart. Huffing quietly, he looked to make sure that she was next to him. Every step throbbed with his sore muscles, every breath stinging and more labored. It was a pitiful sight to see the once-threatening stallion in such a weak state; and he loathed how it made him feel so vulnerable. “Damn Cian…should’ve taken care of him years ago. Never should’ve let him live, I knew it was a mistake. I knew it…”
The stallion murmured the words under his breath, his breathing growing quicker in anger as memories of the fight flooded his mind. Him biting his son’s shoulder, Cian tearing his ear to shreds, the bite on the throat, suddenly falling down and Cian’s hoof colliding with his face, darkness. Thane’s eyes widened for a moment as he stumbled, falling to the ground once again; the image was so vivid. He laid there for a moment, gaining his surroundings, shaking his head once to come back to reality. He cursed Cian again, his good ear flattening in anger. He knew he had made a mistake with that boy.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Jul 7 2011, 10:56 PM
Post #5
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There are few that understand what a mare goes through during the birthing process apart from the pain of the labor itself. Apart from those few mares that abhorred the creature they were nurturing in their womb (a position Amalthea had been in herself on occasion), the combination of a newborn child and the overwhelming instinctual urges to care for it overrode most other basic needs. Emotions, even those that seem to have nothing to do with the foal at hand, are the cause of absurd mood swings and right now, with her long-absent lover almost dead at her feet, and she incapable of doing anything to stop it with a foal imminent, was about as overwhelmed as a mare could be.
Thus, his harsh tone sent her flinching uncharacteristically backward from his broken body. Immediately, upon acknowledgement of this unusual show of her own weakness and the reappearance of the old Thane, both ears find their way customarily to her poll and she steps frostily away from him to chart a course well clear of his body toward the shore. Haughtily she ignores his apology, not pausing in her trek until all four pale hooves are lodged in dry sand and her overburdened back comforted by the scant shade offered so close to shore. Cold blue eyes turn back in his direction as he struggles, impassively watching him mutter to himself without really hearing the words he spoke; only her son's name stood out, and spoken in such a cruel tone of voice makes her heart twist.
Cian had been the one child she was proud of, the one that she held above all the others as the golden standard no matter how his favor fell with his sire. It seemed that after Cian's fall, nothing she produced was ever good enough for her lead stallion. Cian had taken his own road in life. Siasion had been born plain and unwanted from birth. Kohani had been pretty, everything a filly should be, but she was not what Thane had needed at the time. Had not been the heir. Kairos had been too strange, and after that Thane had never bothered to meet the twins. The hardest job she'd ever had to do was carry and raise the twins before abandoning them to their own devices at a little over a year old, something she'd never thought of doing before, but never had she raised twin colts. Much less like Kain and Aidan.
The realization that Thane has never met the twins hardens her heart further. He forced another upon her without bothering to see what his overactive man parts had created the first time around. Bitterness forces a frown on her lips, and stops her from coming to his aid when he falls. "Get up then. This is hardly suitable for your seventh child."
She doubts he'll do the math, that he'll remember this is only her sixth pregnancy, but it gives her a sense of satisfaction anyway to allude the fact that he'd gotten twins from her. To let him wonder what they were, who they were, where they were. Why she had been alone in the Faults that night. But she knew he wouldn't; he never did. Her problems would always be less in comparison to his and this was no exception. Assuming that he is getting to his feet, she turns away again, maneuvering her uncomfortable bulk onto the same grassy knoll where she'd given birth all five prior times. She stands staring out at sea, letting the wind dry the sour tears on her cheek while she waited for Thane to join her, suddenly unsure if she was glad at all that he was back.
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`d e p p
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Jul 11 2011, 10:58 PM
Post #6
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I think everybody's nuts.
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Thane could tell that Amalthea was hurt. All the tenderness and nurturing compassion flooded instantly from her features, leaving behind a pained anger mixed with the usual coolness. He watched as she stalked off in front of him, not even turning around when he’d fallen to the ground. The Lipizzaner pinned his ears within the knotty tresses of his mane, his good eye narrowed as he glowered after her. He didn’t understand what she had suddenly gotten all worked up about; it was merely a flame of his usual self smoldering through his system before his aching body smothered it. For years the cremello mare had lived with the nasty, heartless stallion—why would she be so offended of his cruelness now? If anything, he would have guessed that she’d be relieved that he could actually be numb to his pain for at least a moment.
Snorting softly, Thane rolled his eyes, brushing Amalthea’s sudden mood change out of his mind. He was not one to expect kindness, and that certainly wasn’t going to change while his body was broken. It probably had something to do with her tangled hormones anyway—he’d had enough pregnant mares in his life to know that something changed about them in those months. The severely wounded stallion was just about to heave himself up when the mare spoke; her tone cold, biting at his nerves. Ebony eyes glanced up at the cremello briefly, his face a stone of painful emptiness. Had they really had seven children together? Thane’s blood-streaked brow furrowed for a moment before a demure grin pulled at the corners of his lips, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. They’d done good!
However, Thane couldn’t focus on his countless intimacies for long. Breathing heavily through flared nostrils, he prepared his injured body for movement. Clenching both eyes shut, the sliced stallion thrust his forelegs in front, and heaved his back legs under him; torn muscles shook beneath his frayed hide, and it took him several minutes to stand. With his breaths wheezing through broken ribs, Thane began to slowly limp after Amalthea; who had by now begun to walk towards a small grass-covered hillock. His pace was slow but consistent, the throbbing in his throat and almost every other part of his body pushed aside with the clenching of his teeth.
Within a few minutes the Lipizzaner was at the mare’s side, two pale figures standing motionless, facing the sea with a tensed silence. Thane remained standing, occasionally shifting his weight uncomfortably so as to keep from falling. A hushed sigh rasped through his tattered air passages, his hard features softening into an emotionless pain. “Amalthea…” He murmured, the faint gurgling sound quieting his tone. A brief stillness followed as the stallion struggled with his words. Thane wasn’t one to apologize a second time—she had already abused that privilege—but he didn’t mean to hurt her with his unconsciously harsh words. The Lipizzaner hardly ever kept his promises; especially in his current condition, she should take into consideration that he was at her side at all. Clearing his throat, the stallion continued slowly. “Amalthea, I’m here—right now, I’m supporting you; just like I should have many times. That alone should prove how much I…care.”
He struggled with the last word, taking a deep breath before it was uttered from his lips. Never before had he ever cared for anyone—or admitted it, for that matter. For a time there had been Suki, but the strongest desire he felt for her was lust; nothing special pulled at his heart, almost made him feel weak as the cremello beauty did at his side. Thane’s broad shoulders heaved as he groaned quietly, transitioning his balance once again to keep stable. Almost hesitantly he extended his neck, pulling the injured tendons as he placed his dark muzzle against Amal’s pale shoulder. It wasn’t until he felt her warm skin, breathed in her scent that he realized that he didn’t want this mare—his mare—to be mad with him; especially when he could only have moments left to live. He didn’t want to end things like this.
A soft nicker vibrated his dark nostrils as he took a step forward, touching his nose gently to Amal’s. Thane breathed twice before slowly running his muzzle up the bridge of her nose, smoothly changing direction as he followed the feature of her cheek. The Lipizzaner could never recall any moment where he had been so gentle, so tender in his touch. He had never felt such an urge to let the mare know exactly how deep his feelings really were for her; he wanted to shout it out, make her believe that all he wanted was for her to never forget him, and the way he adored her. But these emotions were so unbelievably foreign to the stallion, he found his tongue unable to form words. Settling with sighing her name inaudibly under his breath, Thane slowly backed away, giving her one last hopeful glance before turning his attention to the ocean.
He just wanted her to know.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Jul 12 2011, 12:04 AM
Post #7
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He took a long time to join her. Time enough for long breaths that helped steady her mind, to soothe her sudden irritation with the stallion behind her. This was the same place she'd given birth at every single time. It was achingly familiar to her, and she had to repress memories of the first time her overburdened body had lain upon this sand, and the triumph she'd felt when Cian had been born.
The sound of shuffling behind her ears the twist of one fluted ear and the tight press of her lips. She remains frozen, not looking at the stallion she'd called her own since she was able to chose, at the stallion she'd given six healthy children to, at the stallion who'd somehow managed to find and steal her heart from it's stone prison. When he does speak, the sound is almost as fragile as his balance, and her cool gaze turns back to him as he tries to force his gurgling voice into real words. Her name sounds strange in this garbled tongue and she sighs, almost in exasperation. The foal within her, for she is sure it is only one this time, stretches against a particularly vehement contraction and her focus breaks as she looks back. Amalthea still hated pregnancy. And the stark realization that this may very well be her last pregnancy ever shocks her. If Thane dies, where will she go? To who? Why? What reason will there be to continue?
No one wants a beat up older mare. And she didn't plan on having any more children, so what good would be be? Certainly she would never be at anyone's lead position if all she could offer was bitter, hard-won advice. Life after Thane looked bleak.
Her voice gurgles from the creature next to her again, and her blue eyes flick back to him, filled with the same panic-stricken mercy that had served him well in the water. Surprisingly, his touch is gentle against the bridge of her nose, and she watches him through half-lidded eyes as he traces the planes of her face, gentler than she had ever seen him. Even the night in the Faults had been brief and love-less in comparison to this lingering touch, and it only made her heart heavier. Certainly someone would intervene. Someone with knowledge of herbs, or healing, or a miracle would simply keep him at her side. Even only seeing him once a month, once a year, once more in her lifetime would be better than watching him die here in her presence.
His body wavers next to hers, mimicking her own woozy balance as the contractions strengthen. Like usual, her legs felt rubbery and unsteady, and the desire to circle and lay down was getting stronger, sapping at her ability, let alone desire, to stand next to him. As he pulls away, she can feel the loss of his skin, so long awaited, somewhere deeper than just her flesh. He has taken a part of her with him, and although she has known the unfortunate depth of her feelings for a long time, she'd never had true confirmation of their reciprocation. Only vague hints that, at the time, had been enough to keep her going. The knowledge now, was bittersweet. She would finally get her answer just as he prepared to leave this world.
Her own muzzle, still velvety soft, presses against a bloodstained but apparently not torn section of his neck, and she struggles to breathe in his scent beneath the blood. She knows that it is there, that he is still the same stallion, but there is so much different. His attacker has stolen his very essence and a sudden protective urge overcomes her, likely a result of her whinging hormones. Her muzzle presses lightly along the proud crest of her stallion until she is close to his ear, her skin stained macabre-esque with his blood, her voice a whisper against his skin. "Who did this to you?"
As she pulls away, the hurt in her heart lingers, but nature waits for no emotion and already her body was preparing for birth. The foal had shifted, her water had broken, all that remained was for her to deliver this child into the spring air. And just as suddenly as her desire to protect Thane and to rectify his attack, her desire for him to see this child welled up, overriding everything else. The cremello mare winced as another contraction struck her, and pulled away from him again slightly, her gaze searching for his, an apologetic smile wavering on her lips. She wants to stand here, truly, but she cannot stop herself from this process. And unlike her other children, this one apparently had no reservations about joining the beasties on Kormada.
"You might want to get comfortable, love." Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth against the pain, she attempts a disgraceful waddle away from the stallion her body craved, and attempted to position herself in a way that would spare him the grittest details of birth. The last image she wanted to leave him with was that of her body struggling to rid itself of the child. Struggling a little, she moved closer to Thane, close enough to reach out and touch him if he had chosen to lay down where he was. And already the contractions were increasing, the foal struggling against the pressure and adding to her misery.
Now at the point of no return, all she could do was breathe and hope nature was kind to her once more, her pretty pale head sinking to the sand, blue eyes closing against the grit.
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`d e p p
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Jul 12 2011, 07:20 PM
Post #8
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I think everybody's nuts.
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Thane didn’t know what was happening to him. These strange feelings throbbed strong within his broad chest, foreign and unwanted all his years. It almost made him feel weak, causing an unnatural tremble to his torn flesh. Honestly, this was probably the most fear the Lipizzaner had ever felt in his life—if he could ever remember feeling fear before. For the first time in his life, he felt as if someone else had control of him, was deciding his every move, and influencing every thought. And in a way, Amalthea did have power over him. In any other circumstance, Thane would never even consider making the journey to the Foaling Grounds; yet here he was, supporting the cremello mare. Before this moment, the Lipizzaner would never have thought that he cared for anyone but himself, doing anything to increase his own authority; until now, he had just admitted to Amal that he cared for her—deeply.
The stallion’s bruised brow creased in confusion, his one good ear swiveling slowly to the side. Maybe he shouldn’t be surrendering to his emotions…after all, he could feel he didn’t have much longer to live. Maybe he shouldn’t give Amalthea all the secrets of his heart, only to leave her empty and hurt; it felt…selfish to him. Thane pursed his dark lips together. Selfishness—a feeling so common with the scarred stallion, and yet so foreign. This only made the Lipizzaner even more puzzled; how could a single mare, after all his years of living, bring so much out of him within a few moments? The thought was strange and almost uncomfortable.
He felt Amal’s soft muzzle against his injured neck. At first Thane flinched, startled from his troubled musings, but he soon calmed beneath her soothing touch. He could feel her linger over his skin, her breath warm against his wounds as she gradually worked her way up to his ear. The mare’s voice was quiet, her breath tingling against his exposed flesh. "Who did this to you?" Thane froze, his frayed tendons growing quickly rigid; her words seemed to soak like ice, seeping through his injuries and stinging him into immobility. Thankfully, Amalthea had pulled away just as she asked, his severe discomfort probably going unknown. What was he supposed to say? It was obvious that Cian was still greatly valued in her eyes…she’d become deeply hurt when he spoke so poorly of him before, Thane didn’t want to cause her pain again. He remained unmoving, frantically searching his mind for something to say.
However, just as he drew a breath to respond, Amal shied further away from him; her features contrite as a smile pulled up the corners of her pale mouth. The Lipizzaner could tell she was in growing physical pain, but it didn’t hit him until she started backing away—it was time! For a moment all Thane could do was watch her shuffle away, weakly extending his muzzle when she settled close to him. It wasn’t until then that his aching body told his brain that he’d put enough stress on his wounded muscles. Suppressing the groans that climbed up his throat, the stallion slowly lowered himself to the ground; a single gasp of pain escaping him as he laid down on the sand.
Thane was uncomfortable as what to do next—he wasn’t sure whether or not Amalthea wanted him to watch or not. He could see by the angle she was laying that she probably wanted to spare him, and he was perfectly fine obeying her desires. With a soft nicker vibrating his ebony nostrils, the Lipizzaner reached over and touched his nose to hers for a moment, his ragged breathing deep. He attempted to draw closer, black eyes searching for hers, trying to give her comfort before he backed away, turning his face around to give her privacy. His ear turned back, focusing on the mare. Thane felt the fear knotting in his throat, muscles tensing for what was about to come. He had no idea what was going to happen next, he just wanted Amal and his child to be alright.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Jul 12 2011, 10:16 PM
Post #9
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His touch brings her ice blue eyes open again, and she offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile. Thus far, the birth itself was normal. It was not her that he should be worried about, and as he turns away from her - presumably for privacy - she cannot help but chuckle. After sharing with him as many children as she had, after living with him for so long, what intimacies were strange between them. Still, the part of Amalthea that has stubbornly held onto her youthful vanity rejoices in his decision. Birth always left her sticky with sweat, covered in sand and debris and ultimately cranky. Definitely not the way she wanted to remain in his memory.
Not that the image of a grossly swollen mare and bloody offspring would be much better, but you had to work with what you had.
Rather quickly, her thoughts of vanity are tossed out the window as she forces herself to focus on the process, willing it to go quickly. The faster this child was born, the sooner she could introduce it to Thane and enjoy the last few moments with him. Strange, how the years passed and feelings changed. Thane had forced her to grow up quickly in his herd, and she had, and done it well. Lately though, she felt less. Less of a mare, a mother, a leader. Each job that was handed to her held a little less satisfaction, became a little more empty, every time she faced it without the powerful white rock to break the waters for her. No one let a mare do anything on her own. Much less one whose lust for power was torn equally by an unwelcome love and a fierce loyalty to his cause.
Another contraction earned a shift from the foal, and what felt like hours to the pale mare, could have only been minutes, and quickly it slid free from her body and immediately began struggling with the birth sack. Blue eyes re-opened to a world that seemed vibrant, crystalline. Absolutely clear. And apart from the sky, it was her stallion's face that first registered in her view, simultaneously with the weak struggling of a newborn child.
So many times Amalthea had heard of mares being overcome with a motherly instinct, overrun with joy, overwhelmed with a burst of happy hormones. Amalthea had never felt anything but exhausted, blessed relief. At least for the first few moments anyway. After the shock of the process had begun to fade anxieties over gender and health resettled, but always there was relief. Without really looking at Thane, the pale mare - now dusted cream where the sweat had colored her coat - rolled back onto her chest and craned her neck around to see what her body had produced this time.
As her muzzle made contact with the child's pretty pale coat, and found it to be a girl, she for perhaps the first time ever, was not disappointed. Just tired. Thane and she had shared enough colts, enough handsome stallions between them that she would not miss the prospect of raising another. Methodically, with one ear tilted in Thane's direction for a reaction, she cleaned their daughter. When the girl's face was at least the right color, she pulled away to look at him, and spoke quietly before resuming her motherly duties. "You should name her."
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`d e p p
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Jul 15 2011, 05:13 PM
Post #10
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I think everybody's nuts.
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The stallion closed his eyes, attempting to will himself into deafness so as to not hear any of Amalthea’s cries of pain—should she have any. He was unsure what to expect, what he should do. It was tempting to turn around, to glance and make sure that she was alright, but he knew that she would desire her privacy whether she was okay or not. Ebony nostrils vibrating with an irritated snort, Thane pushed his concern to the back of his mind for now. There was nothing he could really do for the cremello mare at the moment anyway, and she was strong—he had to believe that she was tough enough to do this. After all, it wasn’t like this was her first time giving birth.
Pinning his ears within the knotted tangles of his mane, the Lipizzaner lowered his head to the sand, his tense, throbbing muscles unable to loosen themselves with his persisting anxiety. However, rest was a futile attempt and within moments Thane opened his weary eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the sunlight reflecting off the sandy ground. He could almost feel the skin around his left eye swelling, forcing his sight into darkness; the stallion knew it wouldn’t be long until he wouldn’t be able to see in that eye at all. His situation was bleak. From where he lay, Thane could clearly see where he had travelled from the water, his countless wounds oozing a crimson blood trail through the grains of sand, splattering several times where he had fallen.
The sight caused him uneasiness, his darkened lips pursing together in mild anger. Never before had he seen so much of his own blood spilt, spattered on the ground; to the Lipizzaner, it signaled defeat—and defeat did not sit well with him. Thane knew that he was too weak to go after his eldest son a second time, but he vowed that someday, somehow, he would get his revenge on the wretched disgrace. At the moment, the wounded stallion felt as if he was being torn two ways; his heart towards Amalthea and their loyal children, a life of power and pleasure with his cremello by his side. Thane was sure he would finally feel genuine happiness then, something he had deprived himself of in his life. However, his broken body predicted a different path, one that led in a totally different direction. A path he felt was too soon to travel.
The repressed sounds of panting and struggling broke Thane’s dismal thoughts, causing him to immediately lift his head and turn around to look at Amalthea. Her pale hide was drenched in a blanket of sweat, her eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed. The stallion nickered softly, extending his neck, his muzzle hovering protectively over the mare, not touching her for fear of disturbing her serenity. Seconds later she opened her eyes, the blue irises clear of any pain and worry; a fragile smile flitted a cross his black lips at the sight. However, he assumed like any good mother, she soon turned her attention to the foal.
Thane watched in silent wonder as she cleaned the puny thing, still mostly hidden behind the damp body of its mother. He attempted to crane his neck to get a better look at their child, but was held back by the constant aching in his throat whenever he hyper extended the muscles. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Amalthea moved out of the way to reveal their foal, her voice gentle. "You should name her." Because of his ever-present pride, the Lipizzaner couldn’t help the brief stab of disappointment that seared through his chest. Her? Thane thought it more fitting for his last child to be a colt, probably the sole heir of his prodigy; to him, a filly was simply another pretty pawn to use to his benefit. Nevertheless, he could feel Amal’s eyes on him, and he hid his displeasure well.
Instead, he settled on wordlessly appraising the filly, his ears perked forward as he took her in. It didn’t take long for those big, beautiful black eyes to draw him in; within moments his guarded mask was softened into his adoration for this stunning little creature, his hushed voice warm. “She’s beautiful.” The filly cocked her head to the side as she looked at the huge, bloody figure staring at her, shying against her mother before boldly extending her nose to him. Thane hesitated, uncomfortable with the sudden affection, before touching his nose tenderly to his daughter’s. “Alina.” He breathed, turning his attention to Amalthea. “She will be called Alina.”
The filly, however, paid no attention to her parents. Already she had thrust her gangly forelegs in front of her, her fuzzy brow furrowed in determination as she heaved herself slowly to her feet. She stayed still for a few moments, making sure her balance was alright before she took a hesitant step forward. A few followed, but she soon realized she was heading in the wrong direction—away from her mother. Glancing back with a disappointed expression, Alina huffed, turning around and almost stomping back to where she had began. Promptly she began to prod her mother to her feet, nosing around her barrel where she instinctively knew she would be able to feed. Thane watched in silence, his chuckle a low gurgling sound. Meeting Amal’s gaze he pressed his nose to hers, nuzzling her softly. “She’s perfect, Amalthea.”
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Jul 21 2011, 05:00 PM
Post #11
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His face betrayed no disappointment when he looked at their daughter, but his pause was proof enough for her that he hadn't changed. Thane didn't like any of the colts she had produced, but nor was he ever happy with a filly. Of course, Amalthea hadn't exactly been thrilled with Siasion when she was born, but that was born more out of vanity than anything. Kohani had been tolerable because she had been gorgeous, delicate, feminine; everything that Siasion was not.
Amalthea restrains herself from an annoyed reaction and turns instead to cleaning the young girl, one ear cocked backward to listen for Thane's reaction. She pauses for only a brief moment when he comments on the bloody, sopping wet child's looks, but passes on it. She had already decided a blow to his head had knocked him daft anyway; and for that matter, despite the legions of children he'd sired, she doubted that he'd every seen one born. She pulls away from the filly when the girl rather boldy extends her muzzle toward her sire, and watches with muddled affection and confusion as they tenderly touch. Silently she bites her lip, unsure of how to react to this absurd display. It wasn't that she didn't like it (although she wasn't fond of Thane's softening), she just had never seen anything like it. Awkwardly the now deflated mare remained on the ground while her daughter stood up on wobbly legs, precociously controlling her movements enough to stagger toward her dam and demand feeding.
Accustomed to having at least a few minutes before her children were so mobile, Amalthea's elegant face twists momentarily into a scowl as she nudges the newly christened Alina away from her body so that she can rise to her feet - her own muscles wobbly from the recent exertion. She stretches to meet Thane's touch although the whole moment feels somewhat surreal. This was not how she imagined her last moments with Thane to be, had she ever paused to think such morbid thoughts. Nor had she ever even considered allowing a stallion to accompany her to the Quarry; risking a male seeing her in such unflattering light was not typically her forte. Although one blue eye and one fluted ear remain on the foal, her attention diverts to the stallion on the ground. What now then?
Anxiously she shifts her feet, intending to stand only long enough for the filly to nurse, steeling herself for the always unpleasant feel of a newborn nursing for the first time. She lets the silence envelop them while they wait for the newborn to find her legs. After a long moment she murmurs softly, perhaps too low for him to hear for the time being. "So what now Thane?"
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`d e p p
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Aug 4 2011, 12:01 AM
Post #12
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I think everybody's nuts.
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"broken pieces, break into me so imperfectly what you should be." Thane’s blackened nostrils curled and flared faintly with his shallow breathing, yellowed teeth clenched behind tight dark lips as his broken body throbbed with every strained movement. Unknowingly he struggled for consciousness with every passing minute, pale lids fluttering delicately over his ebony eyes as he stared blankly at Amalthea and their newborn daughter. A weak flicker of life smoldered briefly through his dark irises as he watched the pale filly finish her first meal, a silent smacking sound produced as she licked her lips pleasantly; but the flare was soon smothered as another stab of pain seared through his severely damaged tissue. The Lipizzaner had never felt so vulnerable in his life; a defeated sensation spread through his psyche like a lethal disease, weakening his injured muscles and weighing heavily on his fragile bones.
To be honest, Thane had never really considered the prospect of death before. In his mind, he had thought that he would always remain at the top of the world; ruling a supreme dark dominance with a cruel authority and blood-thirsty vengeance. Falling victim to any form of weak defeat was far from his expectations—the last thing he ever saw himself becoming. And yet there he was, bloodied and broken, hardly able to move on his own as he lay on the warm sand. The Lipizzaner was scarcely a fraction of the powerful stallion he had once been, thriving in his own sinister authority; little had he known that it was the power that had distorted his mind into creating an improbable fantasy. Eventually sensibility had caught up to him, chewing on his ominous dreams and spitting them back onto his shattered spirit. It was a brutally nasty revenge of reality; one that seeped into his consciousness and burned past his physical injuries.
As if the vengeance of validity wasn’t enough, fear began to slither at the edges of Thane’s psyche, stinging with what only his prideful willpower could put off. For the first time in his life he had no idea what to expect, and felt completely defenseless against this foreign enemy; no battle action could fight it off, no harsh word could repel it away. No—fear was seeded deep into the stallion’s innermost feelings, staining every movement and thought his body produced. There was absolutely nothing Thane could do to ease his terror of the unknown; all he could do was settle down as it ate at his consciousness, waiting for it to consume—and, ultimately, destroy—his life. With a groan rumbling in the back of his throat, the Lipizzaner shifted his sore muscles, unable to contain his increasing uneasiness.
It was only the mare’s touch that warded off his frenzied nerves, pale lids closing slowly over his troubled eyes as he took several deep breathes; he could feel the comfort pouring through his heated veins as he breathed in her familiar scent, the warmth of her skin against his own extremely encouraging. For a short moment, Thane thought that he might actually pull through, overcome his severe injuries and continue to rule with his beloved Amalthea at his side; perhaps they could start a new life together, build an empire on the ruins of his former supremacy. However, a single glance to her pretty face shattered any feeble hopes he might’ve had. There was a sadness that laced her blue eyes, darkening her irises as her features remained resolute; she knew as well as he did that his time was quickly running out, and had already accepted the fact that he could no longer support her authority.
It was with that realization—the understanding that Amalthea had already recognized the undeniable reality—that demolished any barriers holding back the stallion’s pain and fear. There was nothing for him to fight anymore; the fire for life in his eyes had faded, leaving behind soulless black voids that pleaded for death to save him. "So what now Thane?" The cremello mare’s soft tone voiced the question that had been lurking in his sub consciousness ever since his overwhelming ruin: so what happened now? Blackened nostrils fluttered as he took a breath, staring at the grains of sand—now stained and moist from his blood—before he looked up to meet her sapphire gaze. He could say that everything was going to be alright, or that he simply didn’t know; but they both knew what was coming, and there was no point in denying the inevitable.
Wordlessly the Lipizzaner extended his nose to Amalthea, his touch gentle as he brushed his muzzle against her own, tenderly nuzzling her cheek and back again. Not once did his eyes waver from hers, the words that were going unspoken being screamed in his features. Never before had he ever come close to feeling what he felt for the mare to anyone else; he cared and adored her more than his cold heart thought possible. Thane loved her. Through his affectionate touch and warm eyes the stallion pleaded with her to understand how he felt about her; unwilling to speak the words, fearing it’d be too hard to let go when the time came. A single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, streaming slowly down his face. Several minutes passed by in silence, the broken stallion unwilling to sever their tender touch, savoring their final moments. In no way had he thought that it’d come to this.
Eventually the pain in his throat became too much to tolerate, and he was forced to draw away, a raspy whicker quivering his dark nostrils. “Amalthea.” Her name was a hoarse whisper as it fluttered through his air passages. She deserved to know the source of his wounds, what had killed him and why; but unfortunately she was unwilling to accept it from him, so he’d have to delegate the responsibility to someone else. “Cian. Please go and see Cian; he will protect you and Alina from any danger… Ask him of me.” The Lipizzaner’s rough tone grew grave as he spoke, a mixture of emotions dancing a cross his features. He knew that Cian loved his mother, and would shelter her and his sister willingly; he was the best hope he had for them. The wounded stallion was only worried for Amalthea when she found out that her adored son has caused her this much pain; but he knew it was the only way she would believe.
Slowly Thane closed his eyes, his once-noble head gradually lowering to the sandy ground with a defeated sigh. The pain of his injuries was too much for him to handle, his shredded flesh almost growing numb with the throbbing. He could feel the thick liquid of his crimson blood oozing onto the beach, slowly discharging the life from his fragile body. The Lipizzaner could sense death’s cold fingers snatching at his severed mind, icy in their desperate attempt to claim his body. With an aching effort Thane looked up to Amalthea, a smile turning up the corners of his lips before his breath rattled in his throat. His broad chest expanded once as he coughed hoarsely, a final glance given to the mare before his dark eyes rolled up in his head as they closed. Death was triumphant as it claimed the corpse of its victim, banishing him to a dead stillness.
But his legacy lived on. "lay here, it's safe here, i'll let you be broken open."
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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kimmys
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Aug 22 2011, 08:03 PM
Post #13
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With the filly occupying herself behind the pair, Amalthea was able to focus her attention solely on the gray stallion in front of her. The male that she'd risked her life to stand beside, the one she'd fought against to be considered worthy of her title, the sire of her children, the sole creature rash enough to have reached out and touched her heart. The undeniable truth sat in front of her like dead weight, lifeless and cold, unyielding to even the most determined of hope-filled shoves. His condition had worsened past the point of a miracle cure and no healer would be able to save the only stallion she could truly say she loved.
Still, even with these morbid thoughts wearing tracks in her mind, she does not let the sadness overwhelm her. No tears spill, no sobs interrupt her steady breathing. He is fading fast and there's nothing she can do except to keep her pale muzzle against his torn and bloodied cheek and wait with him till the end. There is only acceptance now - the anger would come later.
When he pulls away she can feel the loss of his touch acutely, and for a moment she is afraid that he will leave her now without answering her. Damnit! He had left her in this position - too old to entice a strong young male, nursing a young daughter, and too accustomed to power to leave it behind. But his breath continues to rattle through his throat and she waits, knowing in her heart that he will answer her. A last parting command; fitting considering how many times they had parted on similar terms, she never good enough and too good at the same time. Regardless of how anyone looked at their history, they had worked well together and if only... if only a few things had gone differently, it might be Thane's name still sending skitters of fear down young foal's spines. She breathed in and held it, inclining her head when he tells her to see Cian. It is a strange request considering the lack of love between father and son, but she assumes that he is merely telling her to go where it is safe. They both know that Cian will take her in until she can find a new purpose for her life.
His smile tells her all she needs to know about close death is, and it takes all of her willpower to force a trembling one onto her own lips. His eyes communicate the things that he cannot say, and she only hopes that her own do the same. Now was not the time to weaken and admit the things that they both knew they felt. It all felt like a bad dream. Surely she wasn't standing here, about to watch her lover die on the sands of the Foaling Quarry. Surely their ambition, their legacy, would not stand for this travesty against their greatness. Perhaps she was still the lovely three year old he had just approaching in the Homeless grounds, about to wake up from a foreboding nightmare and meet the powerful grey for the first time all over again. Reliving everything he had put her through would be preferable to watching it all end now.
Without Thane, who was she?
When at last his brown eyes close and his body collapses in the middle of one struggling breath, she knows it is over. The lack of his existence in this world is almost tangible to her, an oppressing wave of despair that crashes over her muddled mind and leaves her standing there, blinking back stubborn crystalline tears. She is less of a mare now. A part of herself she hadn't realized she'd given away now left her metaphorical heart gaping like a well used piece of cheese cloth. Her world, her reign, was ending and not by her own volition as she had always believed it would. The cream mare sucks in a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, and repeats it, over and over.
She does not know how much time has passed before she finally speaks, adding finality to the tragedy that has already happened. "I will."
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`d e p p
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Aug 26 2011, 06:00 PM
Post #14
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I think everybody's nuts.
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"yeah i know my life has changed, but honestly i don't know if we'll survive." Alina’s large, dark eyes watched her parents silently, both of her black-rimmed ears perked forward and rotating subtly with curiosity. The filly obviously had no idea what was going on, though she could sense by her mother’s reserved—if not somewhat deflated—posture that whatever was taking place was important. Her pale brow furrowed as she turned her inquisitive gaze on her sire, the sight of his shredded flesh and exposed muscles made her wrinkle her nose in disgust, gangly legs taking her back a step or two in mild fear. Nonetheless, she tilted her dainty head to the side as she noted the stallion’s obvious sadness, a desperate plea seeming to fight from the soulless void that clouded his black eyes. Intrigued as to what could cause such a pained expression, Alina’s liquid ebony eyes pierced her mother’s pale, drawn face.
As she did not know the mare well enough to properly read her façade, her mother’s features portrayed a sort of counterpart to the Lipizzaner’s agony. The cremello’s pretty face was lined with a forced hardness, the firm line of her rosy lips refusing to portray any sign of distress. However, though mildly guarded as it was, there was no mistaking the suffering that smoldered deep within her sapphire eyes; the haunted image seemed to reflect her sire’s as he gazed at her desperately, longing for…something. Alina’s small shoulders protruded from beneath her golden-hued skin as she sighed, her curiosity waning until the raspy growl of the injured stallion grazed through the air. Her doe-like eyes widened as she watched her father collapse to the ground, delicate muscles flinching as she shied away from the grotesque sight.
Wide, black eyes were transfixed on the stallion’s motionless corpse, horror and fear mingled with a cruel curiosity that laced her feminine features. It wasn’t until her mother’s brief words were uttered, a soft acceptance of doom, that Alina’s attention shifted from the monstrous obscenity. The filly stared at her mother for a few silent moments before her dainty legs carried her forward, her smoky muzzle pressed lightly against the mare’s pale shoulder. Confusion flickered like a flame through her black eyes, her gray lips twisted into a puzzled line as wordless questions laced her young features. Alina, having experienced nothing else, was unsure of what to do. A quiet snort flared her nostrils as she returned her attention to her dead sire, black-tipped ears rotated forward as she hesitantly extended her neck, her muzzle pressed calmly against the receding warmth of his tattered flesh.
When she retreated, the filly’s sooty muzzle was stained crimson with the scarlet liquid that continued to ooze slowly from the Lipizzaner’s corpse, tarnishing the sand like a disease that had done its lethal course. Wagging her fluffy tail once, Alina looked back to her mother, ears rotating as a silent whicker vibrated the skin around her nostrils. Her dark eyes probed the cremello mare, noiselessly pleading for answers.
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut

paper faces on parade;
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