they say that things just cannot grow

Alaine Winters · 02-07-2011, 09:30 AM

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table © Erin
ooc: birthing thread, situated in the Arbres de la Falaise subterritory. BACKDATED to Feb 6th. 10+

She had been preparing for this moment since that night, two months prior, in Inferni.

She had been preparing for this moment since the moment she had felt the touch of the de le Poer man, and had given herself to him.

And yet, a weak part of her had never expected it to come. This moment, this moment of terror and pain and absolute instinctual euphoria.

For the past two weeks, Alaine had been making herself scarce about the Cour des Miracles pack. Her disappearance had been gradual, as had the notable swelling of her abdomen. She had been stealing away in peaceful moments, and keen eyes might have noted that she always left early burdened with such quantities of vague items that her pregnant body could carry, and that she always returned late and empty-handed. Keen minds might have noticed an absence of blankets in the woman's room, or perhaps an absence of the direct and severe dutiful fidelity she had towards her rank of the pack Apothecary. It would appear that Alaine's priorities were shifting, as were the small budding lives that were cushioned within her swelling womb.

On the day of her final trip, a clear morning three days prior to this night of pain and joy, Alaine had packed her leather healer's satchel full of salted and preserved food, string for snares, a flask of water and a gold necklace, set with a single but magnificent emerald.

Not knowing how to write, she had been unable to leave a note explaining her absence. Not wanting to speak in person, so it was that she stole away in secrecy, leaving the bustling world of the pack as quickly as she had come into it. It was an instinct that had driven her to act as she did - An ancient instinct, one surfaced by the culmination of events that had chiseled Alaine into the peculiar creature she was. On this clear morning, she had left the homely comfort of the Chien Hotel, and headed to the worn and wild abandonment of Arbres de la Falaise; the ocean cliffs.

The walk was not an easy one, but by now she had a clear path in mind, and though Alaine had to stop for frequent rests, she reached her destination before nightfall. Up high, where the air was cool and crisp and the sweet scent of ocean filled one's lungs like ozone, the Winters woman had chosen her nest - Her place of solace. The place where, Dea-willing, she would give birth to Gabriel de le Poer's children.

A day passed. The weather turned bitter, and she was grateful of the sturdy stone cliffs, and the enclosed safety of the sea-facing cave she had chosen. The dried meat sustained her, and freshly fallen snow was easily melted to replace the water in her flask. The inside of her cave was sparse, but made warm by an eclectic gathering of woolen blankets. She had no need for a fire, for even though the winter wind was bitter as it howled about the cliffs, she was protected by the weathered stone, and warmed by the pelts and threaded blankets she had amassed.

This morning had been the worst yet. It was clear, by now, that the relentless weather was building in the heavens, steadying itself for a brutal onslaught. Unknowing to the woman who dwelled in the ocean cliffs, he pack had sustained many damages; the Chien Hotel ravaged by wind, the infamous dwelling of Firefly travestied by the storm. In her cocoon, up high above the thrashing waves, Alaine was cut off - Safe. Her snares had caught a lean hare, of which there was abundance, and she ate well. The snow fell heavier, and to keep the more persistent moans of wind out of her cave, Alaine spent the remainder of her time piling up a snow door.

It was dark, then, inside the womb of the cliff. She lit three of the four candles she had brought, and by the dancing flamelight, traced the small images she had found etched into the walls. They looked faded and unbearably old, and unmistakeably humanmade, but the expectant mother was not threatened by their presence. She felt almost as if the strange fourlegged beasts and spear-holding two-legs were watching over her.

The contractions came early, and this was to be the lasting pain, herald of the euphoria. The wind had waned, but the roar of the ocean snatched away her twisted moans of pain. The blankets lay in disarray as she moved in a constant effort to get comfortable, craving desperately her four-legged form but knowing such a thing to be fatal. The storm returned in full, and the cold bit horribly through the stone. Sometimes she cried in the darkness, and felt more scared than she had ever been, but the strange drawings remained silent and sentinel, and she drew strength from their presence.

The first child was born just after midnight, as his mother loosed unearthly sounds of pain. He would never hear them, as he and the girl that came next were born cold and still. Their little eyes would never open, and a horrible despair fell over Alaine. She pushed the two small bodies into a far corner of the cave, desperate to be as far away from them as possible.

The next came, and she was warm and alive and strong. Alaine cradled her to her own silky warmth, for this was the moment that she had craved for so long. The girlchild's pelt seemed to have the same warm hues as her father, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness. Her life fueled Alaine with hope, and she named the little girl Elvira, Elvira of the cold wind and the dark night. Next came a boychild, and although small, his form was just as warm as his sister's. Elijah of the ocean, the roaring waves and the intoxicating air. The final child was small and dark, and although her feeble heart beat desperately, Alaine knew that this child would not survive the night. Unable to refuse the still creature, the woman named her Elenore, the name of her own mother. Elenore the beautiful, the cold and the quiet.

The final girlchild died before dawn, and Alaine was too exhausted to weep. Her life now revolved around the two living creatures, each so precious and perfect that their very life could absolve the Winters woman of all her pain and heartache. Elvira and Elijah.

She would remain on the cliffs until the storm had died, leaving the cave only to bury the three small bodies that had been cursed by her broken womb.

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