I liked it, ^=^
500+
A soft smile flickered in the tranquil pools of her white eyes. The young boy seemed to accept the fact that she would not be returning to his side, and so he began to make his own way. And the black fae watched quietly as he crawled, avoiding the use of his legs. It was so very different to watch from this perspective, but while others may have viewed such physical struggle as humorous or absurd, the warrior found it to be somehow beautiful. As long as he was trying, there could be success, and she believed that he would succeed. His body was not useless. The sudden change, as she had gathered it to be, had simply put his mind into shock. She had felt it before: once when her mother had been killed and again upon the fields of ice.... But, when she had first discovered that she was a luperci, the shift had been slow, invoked by her calmed and willing mind. The sensation had been like nothing she had ever known, but she had not been afraid. That had been nearly a moon before the turning of her second year.... There was very little that she feared, and even he was dead now.
She was pulled from her contemplations by the sudden scraping of the claws against the floor. He had managed to pull himself to his feet, although he struggled with the new shape he had now taken. For a moment, she was still. "Good," the quiet melody commended when the boy began to panic once more. But she did not move to help him. Had she moved now, she believed that she would have hindered his progress, and she did not wish to do such an injustice upon him. We live as we Dream, she reminded herself: Alone. But for the warrior, the concept of ‘alone’ and of solitude was beautiful, like the song of the silver pre-dawn just as the golden light of the sun began to warm the distant horizon. She knew that others did not live as she. Most other warriors did not live as she. But simply because she loved that pulchritudinous solitude did not mean that she was eternally alone.... She had found love. And now, also, she carried life. "You’re doing fine."
The woad-marked warrior turned, her fluid movements disrupted by the limp of her right leg. Briefly, before she reached for the decorated shaft of the Raven Spear, the weapon of her Dreaming, the fingers touched the scar of a wound that had been stitched by her lover. With his thought, a soft song moved through her mind. The Spear hummed as she took it up, holding it horizontally against her healing leg as if the song would aid in its healing.
Turning to the soft sound that the boy made, the woman watched as he pushed himself against the wall. The white orbs sought the violet eyes of the young boy, and they sought his without the intensity that was often held within them. Her left hand relinquished its place upon the swell of her abdomen so that she may reach out to the struggling creature. She did not heed the quiet warning that suggested that she not use that limb for the wound upon her neck would not yet allow much strain. But the woman figured that the boy would require the gesture more than she. "Come," she bid quietly, the soft song nearly whispered upon the silent air. "Let’s go outside." Although the world without was not as bright as the sun could have commanded, the fresh air and the lack of the confining walls would allow the boy’s mind to think more clearly—or so she thought, for the woman did not like the confines that she felt by the human edifices. It was as if they sought to subdue the wild freedom of her soul.