08-01-2009, 02:00 AM
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PRIVATE, because Cwmfen doesn’t like crowds, OuO
Onus first, then Cer and Alexey can enter when/if you can~
700+
The night was cool, and the warrior did not sleep through the night. A dull and insistent ache had grown within her lower back, a strange and persisting pain that urged her to move. Although she had not walked more than she was accustom to these days, the black fae considered the possibility of her having pushed herself more than she should have. The weight of the litter within her had grown heavy, and she had increasingly decreased the distance she traveled each day. But the dull aching that she was experiencing wasn’t what provoked such wakefulness. It was something else, something that the woman could not place. Oberon’s Spring laughed merrily as she passed, and a soft sigh was given in return, a simple note in the symphony of the world.
Her mind dwelt upon the short Dreaming that had been brought upon the Raven’s wing. A wren could be heard singing—she could hear it.... It was somewhere near. And the Raven Warrior had followed the song that did not sing for her but for another, finding it in the lush, green glade of dawn. There were two, a mating couple, and she watched it from afar, a light within her soul that before had been lost in the soot of days past. The light was golden once more, and a soft laughter danced upon the air as the golden leaves of autumn. A pied Raven descended, dipping into their presence. And he swallowed them whole, the song of the wren of her ancestors falling silent. And it was upon this that the warrior dwelt. But Death was not dying. Death was rebirth as well. It was Life.
There was a sharp intake of air laced with a cry of pain, quiet despite the silence. A wilder light flickered and was kindled within that white gaze. Leaning forward to prevent herself from collapsing against the unfamiliar pain and the weight of her womb, the warrior leaned against a tree, her arm wrapped about the natural pillar of the earth. The other wrapped itself firmly about her belly, a small grunt emitted as another wave of pain gripped her, disturbing the tranquility with insistent ripples. A rush of water spilt from her, dampening the earth and the leaves as the tears of the heavens. But this was no rain. Instinctually, her breathing changed, those trained reactions rising forth to allow her life. Her jaws parted to breathe the cold, damp air, and the trees whispered and sang.
The Raven called.
The woad-marked wolf knew what was happening. Instinct told her what was happening. They were ready to come. The soft whisper of a Raven’s wing urged her forward, and the warrior pushed herself from the support of the tree. There was determination within her, and she was determined to return to her den. And yet, the warrior was not sure if she could make it. The waves of labor slowed her progress until eventually she could proceed no further. She thought that she could hear the soft, mirthful laughter of the stream, but her racing heart made her deaf. The black fae knelt upon the soft earth, the urgency of her state unable to be ignored any longer. But the warrior struggled—how did the human’s birth. A wolf could lay upon her side, and yet she was no longer wearing that shape. Concentration grew increasingly difficult. Thought grew more difficult to form. And so she stopped. With a deep breath, she made calm her mind. She couldn’t do this alone. There was too much uncertainty.
The woad bound maw rose up as her voice was raised in song, a true song of the wolf, a song of calling. The voice was low, rising slowly with an otherworldly fluidity. The song rose upon the air like the quiet breeze of the north. Onus. Then, abruptly, unnaturally, the howl ended. Another wave of pain interrupted the voice prematurely. And then another wave. Another cry threatened forth, this time with insistence, but the warrior remained silent, unwilling to disturb the night even now. Her mind slipped into a feral state, a wild light gleaming in those white eyes. For a brief moment, there came no contraction, but the relief was short-lived and a grunt was emitted as the warrior’s body shifted, her hand still wrapped about the womb as if the lives within required her secure hold. The other was braced against the earth, her mind torn between remaining upright and lying upon the earth. Her laboring body was not yet commanding her. They were not coming—not quite. But they prepared for the coming even before the grey of predawn had illuminated the darkness. Already, Lughnasadh had come.
Onus first, then Cer and Alexey can enter when/if you can~
700+
The night was cool, and the warrior did not sleep through the night. A dull and insistent ache had grown within her lower back, a strange and persisting pain that urged her to move. Although she had not walked more than she was accustom to these days, the black fae considered the possibility of her having pushed herself more than she should have. The weight of the litter within her had grown heavy, and she had increasingly decreased the distance she traveled each day. But the dull aching that she was experiencing wasn’t what provoked such wakefulness. It was something else, something that the woman could not place. Oberon’s Spring laughed merrily as she passed, and a soft sigh was given in return, a simple note in the symphony of the world.
Her mind dwelt upon the short Dreaming that had been brought upon the Raven’s wing. A wren could be heard singing—she could hear it.... It was somewhere near. And the Raven Warrior had followed the song that did not sing for her but for another, finding it in the lush, green glade of dawn. There were two, a mating couple, and she watched it from afar, a light within her soul that before had been lost in the soot of days past. The light was golden once more, and a soft laughter danced upon the air as the golden leaves of autumn. A pied Raven descended, dipping into their presence. And he swallowed them whole, the song of the wren of her ancestors falling silent. And it was upon this that the warrior dwelt. But Death was not dying. Death was rebirth as well. It was Life.
There was a sharp intake of air laced with a cry of pain, quiet despite the silence. A wilder light flickered and was kindled within that white gaze. Leaning forward to prevent herself from collapsing against the unfamiliar pain and the weight of her womb, the warrior leaned against a tree, her arm wrapped about the natural pillar of the earth. The other wrapped itself firmly about her belly, a small grunt emitted as another wave of pain gripped her, disturbing the tranquility with insistent ripples. A rush of water spilt from her, dampening the earth and the leaves as the tears of the heavens. But this was no rain. Instinctually, her breathing changed, those trained reactions rising forth to allow her life. Her jaws parted to breathe the cold, damp air, and the trees whispered and sang.
The Raven called.
The woad-marked wolf knew what was happening. Instinct told her what was happening. They were ready to come. The soft whisper of a Raven’s wing urged her forward, and the warrior pushed herself from the support of the tree. There was determination within her, and she was determined to return to her den. And yet, the warrior was not sure if she could make it. The waves of labor slowed her progress until eventually she could proceed no further. She thought that she could hear the soft, mirthful laughter of the stream, but her racing heart made her deaf. The black fae knelt upon the soft earth, the urgency of her state unable to be ignored any longer. But the warrior struggled—how did the human’s birth. A wolf could lay upon her side, and yet she was no longer wearing that shape. Concentration grew increasingly difficult. Thought grew more difficult to form. And so she stopped. With a deep breath, she made calm her mind. She couldn’t do this alone. There was too much uncertainty.
The woad bound maw rose up as her voice was raised in song, a true song of the wolf, a song of calling. The voice was low, rising slowly with an otherworldly fluidity. The song rose upon the air like the quiet breeze of the north. Onus. Then, abruptly, unnaturally, the howl ended. Another wave of pain interrupted the voice prematurely. And then another wave. Another cry threatened forth, this time with insistence, but the warrior remained silent, unwilling to disturb the night even now. Her mind slipped into a feral state, a wild light gleaming in those white eyes. For a brief moment, there came no contraction, but the relief was short-lived and a grunt was emitted as the warrior’s body shifted, her hand still wrapped about the womb as if the lives within required her secure hold. The other was braced against the earth, her mind torn between remaining upright and lying upon the earth. Her laboring body was not yet commanding her. They were not coming—not quite. But they prepared for the coming even before the grey of predawn had illuminated the darkness. Already, Lughnasadh had come.