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``and i'm ready to make my move; Lenore and Satyr
Topic Started: May 15 2013, 11:53 PM (82 Views)
ƒierce
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i've not yet begun to defile myself.
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The tobiano allowed a pained gasp to part her lips, nostrils flared, ears flattened back against her poll. The contractions seeming to smash her to pieces with every blow. Her silver buckskin body was laced with sweat, brow dripping with the salty liquid. She was hardly four, and here she was giving birth to a foal. Lenore chided herself, molars gnashing together as she pushed. Strongly willing the child into the world. Hours passed like this: her thoughts turning to Mairon, wondering what their child would look like, hoping the seemingly endless waves of pain would end. Until, finally, the foal slipped from her and onto the grassy bed Lenore had laid herself upon.

When the painted maiden managed to gingerly pull herself upright, her eyes softened at the sight of the pale newborn pushing at its sac, new airways clearing themselves as it sneezed. Her heartstrings pulled toward the frail form, and, without knowing it, Lenore slipped into motherhood. She did what she had seen her own mother do a million times: clean the baby. Her rough-surfaced tongue touched to the wet gel-like surface of the sac which covered the foal's hindquarters. She licked forward, dismissing the foreign taste, and focused on removing it from the child. Her actions, curious and careful, soon progressed into strong, nurturing strokes, long and warm against the shivering shape of her child.

It was when she neared the end of the first bath that she inhaled the faint, milky, masculine scent of her foal. It was a colt. Both hers and Mairon's first child, first son. Lenore pondered as to what sort of attention Mairon would put on the boy; hopefully he would lavish their son with attention. Shape him into the stallion he was meant to be. A gentle sort of smile rests on her maw, corners turning wistfully upward when the colt's pale teal eyes meet her own blue optics. Her eyes wandered his form, now taking the time to notice his coloring. If she was right, he was only faintly splashed with a cream-like color. Even she could only barely see the difference.

Lenore pondered for some time as to what to call her son. It wasn't until long after he stood for the first time and nursed from her, even longer after they both laid down and twilight blanketed them in the comfort of darkness and quiet dusk. Her eyes were always on him, constantly in awe of how this small life, this new horse had come from her only hours before. Always pleasantly surprised with each breath that raised his ribs, the wind that ruffled the beginnings of his wispy mane and curly newborn tail. Her maw carefully grazed the colt's skin, from his cheek to his shoulder. And, while it didn't take long, Lenore felt as if it took forever. How this little one would consume her. And then she thought of a name. His name.

Satyr.
lenore, i see you burninglenore . female . neutral . vanner hybrid . silver buckskin tobiano . imperial point/mairon
ƒierce   (adj.)   ferocious; bold; intense; dauntless
if i am chaos, then you are the storm inside of me
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Hollow | Ristian | Sémillon -- ( potentially adoptable )
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