[html] For preggers Cwmfen! 
Slay moved slowly through the trees, their verdant canopy filtering light down to dapple his broad back. It was still very strange, foreign to him - moving on two legs. Dahlia's Hunter had finally stepped out into the light again, and this time he had taken the biggest step forward he had since joining a pack in the first place. He had finally claimed his birthright as a werewolf, and made the full shift to his upright form. And what a strange, lumbering form it was; the big arctic male felt like he was lurching with every step he took, his wide footpaws sinking into the soft wet earth beneath his massive girth.
His new appearance was veritably feral in nature, with his long obsidian talons, wildly shaggy mane, barrel-chest and war-paint markings. He had never considered his queer markings anything but ugly, but now, in a vertical version, they looked almost threatening... a stark contrast, warning prey of his tribal roots. Bizarre. His icewater gaze - faded nearly to white now - darted hesitantly through the trees of the damp forest, still with the edge of guilt creeping in his stomach. Shifting was unnatural, was it not? A taboo, and yet... he had been capable of such strength since his childhood.
His shambling gait led him to a clearing, where the streams of Oberon's Spring cut swathes into the rolling meadow. The hulking werewolf knelt awkwardly, forcing his weight onto one knee so that he could lower his muzzle and drink. The water, though tainted with silt from the recent rains, was cold enough to quench his sudden thirst. He dipped a finger into the water, swirling it curiously to feel the sensation of wetness on his newly-sensitive pawpads. "And I haven't felt tired yet," he murmured aloud, pleased by the energy coursing in his veins, and then startled by the booming timbre of his voice. He had always been somewhat large for a wolf, but this was ridiculous. He felt like a giant tramping through the forest, too big for nature itself. Even a bear would think twice before tussling with the burly Optime... at least he had discovered a new way within himself to protect those he needed to, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.
[/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... eather.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
The heaviness was more acute now. It was growing increasingly difficult to move, at least in the way in which she was familiar. And because of it, the warrior gradually lingered closer to her den, wandering, at most, several hours’ distance from her abode. Acceptance slowly moved in, quieting her wanderlust and her matrial needs and desires. At times, such a thing held heavily upon her, and the dark smudge upon her soul was able to grow. But she knew also that she must simply be patient, for the litter would soon be old enough to wander on their own—perhaps before the turning of her third year. In her solitude, the warrior dwelt often upon time. So little and yet too much it seemed that there was. At times, time seemed to hold very little consequence for the warrior. Even now, as she paused in her travels, the white orbs turned to look upon her hands. Already, she had forgotten the songs of war. Already, she had forgotten much. She wanted to hear them, the songs that sang to her, but she could not. Not yet. The woad marked fae understood that her duty now lay with the lives within her, however wondrous, however woeful.
The woad-marked fae continued and set her thoughts aside with a deep breath that released them upon the uncertain wind. And as she moved, her stride slow and yet somehow not graceless, she listened. While the other songs had fallen dormant within her, she could still listen to the songs of the world, and she could still revel in their beauty. Accentuated by the songs of birds, the melody of the entirety of existence lifted her soul from the darkness of her own being if only for that moment. And so it was in that way that she traveled with ease, the Raven Spear humming quietly in her grasp as she made her way to the den beneath the great tree. The mirthful laughter of the bubbling brook and of the spring entered the silence of the trees, signifying that she was near. But something else had entered—a scent upon the wind. One that she recognized immediately.
The black fae moved silently, a soft whisper of night, through the foliage and to the far bank, but she did not expect to see what she beheld. "Slay?" The white orbs beheld the familiar colours and the familiar blue eyes, nearly colourless now, although the blue sang loudly for the warrior. The diamond marks were familiar, his scent was familiar. But his shape was not. The white orbs watched in silence, drinking in the unfamiliar sight. It was indeed Slaying the Dreamer, but he had shifted. He walked now upon two legs. It was strange how the black jaws of her father had shown the arctic male to understand and accept this aspect of who he was. "I see that you’re doing well," came the soft melody at length. If he had the strength to shift, he was no longer healing. And a great deal of time had passed since she had last seen him. What had happened during that time? At least she could breathe easily now knowing that, for now, the greatest threats upon her pack, and upon other packs, for that matter, had been annihilated. An amiable mirth moved through those white eyes, but her face retained that quiet tranquility, unmoved even by the diluted emotions of her existence.
[/html]
[html] ooc talk
The soft chiming voice carried to him like a breath of wind, and he glanced over his shoulder, water still dripping from his parted lips. Shame and guilt crossed his expression, a faint sadness in his pale-washed eyes that was quickly masked. Cercelee had mentioned to him what had befallen Cwmfen, but rather than focus on her obvious pain, he fell prey to his own self-loathing, choosing to blame himself for letting Corvus go. He had suffered the least out of all of the crow-wolf's victims, although his subsequent mental breakdown could be construed as damage enough. The lumbering werewolf was struck by the quiet irony; how both the Warrior and Hunter stood before each other, both changed in ways neither of them could ever have predicted. It was nature's way.
"Cwmfen," he rumbled gently, rising with a grunt to his two feet. If he trusted anyone to see him in this frightening new form, it would be her. She held a quiet and worldly aura about her, one whose wisdom he had grown to appreciate. She would not laugh or gawk. And her own form, round with the iconic swelling of her pregnancy - it must be equally difficult for her to accept, he realized. She had never spoken of wanting children. And certainly not of the circumstances that had transpired. "I healed well, thanks to you," he added with a respectful incline of his broad skull. The thick snarls of his mane fell before his eyes, obscuring his face. Everything was so unfamiliar to him now...
Cwmfen's tranquil white gaze regarded him, peaceful despite everything. He smiled lopsidedly, edging nearer to her with small measured steps. It would not do to trip before her. "And you, are you... alright?" he inquired, tilting his head. The innocent question held several layers of meaning, and he knew the enigmatic werewolf would understand what he asked of. He knew very little of the ways of women, and how the puppies were formed in their tummies, and how they knew when the time was right for them to enter the world. But he was beginning to feel the biological tug, the primal desire to sire his own unique offspring, ones he could defend and raise with his mate. He just didn't want to do anything that could harm his mate... he was so much larger than her, and if she had trouble with his children, well, he could never forgive himself.
"Does it... hurt you?"
[/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... eather.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
Woad bound ears pricked forward, listening to the sound of her name being spoken. As he spoke, dipping his maw respectfully, the quiet melody countered with a, "I did nothing," for she truly believed that she had done nothing to contribute to his healing. It was true that she had found him at the boarders, leading him to Cercelee, but she believed that he would have found a way to continue, and if he had not, he would have perished. It was the simple law of Life and Death. It was the same law of which she was subject. If Onus had not found her, Corvus would have had her, and she would have suffered the same fate that her mother had suffered. But their doom had not yet come to pass, and such things were of a preordained Fate. The warrior’s Fate was within the hands of the Morrigan, and she accepted the Fate that had been written for her. In who’s hands the hunter was, the warrior did not know.
"I’m well enough," came the soft response, a hint of that indiscernible smile becoming visible upon her quiet maw. The woad bound fingers pushed through the fur of her belly as if she could feel the life within sing to her through that simple touch. And she was silent for a moment as if listening. And then her gaze lifted to find that of the male. The woad warrior lowered the blade of her Spear as he drew near. And the final question that was raised by the diamond marked male caused a light mirth to dance within her eyes—and yet, a sliver of sadness shined dimly in that white gaze. "No." No, the bearing of life did not hurt physically. Perhaps it would not hurt spiritually, either. But a hidden wound had been made, a incision made by the deft hand of Darkness.
Briefly, her mind moved to Onus. She knew how he felt about the litter within her, and she knew that she had felt the same. But as time had progressed, a soft acceptance settled in like the last, rattling breath of one dying. As a female, it had become necessary for her to carry the black seed of the crow wolf. And yet, that content of which she had told Onus had not dwindled but grown. Her body was betraying the one she loved, but she did not push it away. The lives were now under her protection, as warrior she understood that. She understood it well, even if the lives must be silenced to protect others. And the black fae believed that she could do such a thing if she must.
The warrior withdrew from her thoughts, thoughts that she dwelt often upon these days for the idle state in which her pregnancy had placed her. "What made you shift?" A gentle curiosity was held in her voice, but she would not push him to answer. She was simply curious. She remembered what the diamond marked male had told her when they had first met those many moons ago when she had still been young and lupine. He had never shifted then. But when she had found him on the boarders of Dahlia with Corvus’ scent covering him as surely as did the wounds, he had donned the secui shape. And now, fully shifted, the hunter held true to his arctic blood. She had killed many arctic wolves in the North, she thought suddenly, but this one was no enemy.
[/html]
[html] Sorry for the fail!wait...
The delicate tip of Cwmfen's favored spear lowered, as she slowly let her guard down around him. He shook his head in a mute denial - she certainly had helped him, whether she admitted to it or not - and hunched his shoulders to stoop to her level. Cwmfen was not a short werewolf, but Slay was now well over a head taller than the Caledonian. Her woad-marked hand slipped to her fertile abdomen, and a mixture of expressions flashed in those hueless eyes. "It doesn't hurt at all?" Slay probed, tilting his head quizzically. Surely her posture must be affected... her back, or her feet? "Can you feel how many there are?" he added curiously, icewater eyes fixated on the werewolf's pregnancy. His ebony-daubed tail waved slowly behind him, friendly and inquisitive. He'd need to learn more about this stuff, if his Cercelee was to undergo it too. Was only the birthing the difficult part?
Then it was his turn to respond to queries. "I... I don't know," he admitted, a lopsided smile playing on his lips.
"I suppose I just needed to change... It finally felt like the right thing to do." He turned his large hands over, studying the black pawpads embedded in his palms, the subtle way the knuckles shaped his furry white fingers. "I still feel pretty out of place, though," he added ruefully, brushing the tangles of mane from his faded eyes. It was a very alien experience. He had gone for his entire adult life never knowing what this was like. Most luperci were mere children when they first stood upright, and whether they were terrified or ecstatic, they had family members and packmates and friends to assure them they did it right. It was doubly strange to shift for the first time as an adult, all by himself.
He raised his gaze again, meeting Cwmfen's calm misty eyes. Did she feel out of place now, too? Since it must be hard for her to carry out her familiar duties with the new weight around her midsection. She seemed to take everything life threw at her with such grace... Slay felt a twang of guilt, coloured with jealousy. He had abandoned his duties for far too long, fallen into old habits he'd thought he'd shed, all because of his bitter defeat. He should have gained resolve from the cruel lesson. At least it had unlocked a new transformation for him... opened a new door after all.
[/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... eather.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
It’s all good, ^=^
500+
"No," the soft melody repeated, a soft hint of mirth flickering faintly in her white gaze. The woad warrior was accustom to bearing weight and pain, her tolerance for such things dangerously high, and her posture, always erected, remained as it had always been. Only the wound upon her leg and the slowing of her movements characterized any change within her. And the black fae was not aware that the discomfort and pain of which the diamond male though would be easily characterizing another fae’s pregnancy. "Must I be in pain for you to be pleased?" It was a poor attempt at humor made poorer by her lack of mirth. Still, there were things of which the woad-marked fae knew very little. His next query, however, caused the woad bound ears to lift and listen. A mild curiosity crossed her face. "I do not know their shape," the alto song admitted, "and so I know not how many there are." Her head tilted ever so slightly, imperceptibly, in question. Should she be able to discern such a thing?
Quietly, she listened to the large male’s words, to the sounds his voice shaped. And she nodded quietly as if in approval. "Then it was the right thing to do." She believed that the mind would know, that the soul would understand and act when the time was right. And for Slay, after many years in that single shape and after many years of denying what nature had created for him, he had found that time and had acted. The world could ask of nothing more. A knowing breath was released softly into the air. "I felt out of place also.... this shape was once unfamiliar to me as well." There was a slight pause. What the warrior did not know, however, was that she was not wrought with the ability to change and that that ability had come upon the fields of ice, there bestowed upon her by the hollow-souled crow wolf. "When I had come to the pack gathering last Samhain, I had worn this shape before others for the first time. And I had learned of it only days prior." Perhaps it was not the same, but she could understand the male’s sense of displacement. Her own body had been unfamiliar then as well. It was as her shape now, she decided, her woad-bound fingers brushing against the swollen abdomen.
There was a silence that ensued, and the warrior’s mind dwelt upon her encounter with the Rosea days prior. There had been a strange difficulty in the way Cercelee had spoken of her mate, and the warrior wondered of it. "Cercelee...." The alto melody drifted, fading into the silence and melding into the mirthful laughter of the stream and the pool. The white orbs met the pale blue gaze that so appropriately coloured the ice of the north. She remembered the concern of the white Rosea, and she remembered her silence. "She worried for you." There was an unspoken question within those words, and perhaps the silence was heavier than her words. But, as with the Rosea, this was not her place to pry. The warrior did not know why she had voiced such a thing, for she would have normally continued in her silence as she was accustom to doing. Perhaps, however, she simply wished to alert the large male of the silent pain of his mate.
[/html]
[html] ooc: ;___;
He snorted in amusement at her weak joke, always fond of her awkward humor because of how rare her quips were. The warrior seemed to make an active effort to add brevity to her conversations, and since humor was his own defense mechanism, he could always appreciate it. "Certainly not, o raven-haired one," he apologized gracefully, ice-pale eyes crinkling into a smile. He had never realized before how expressive the werewolf face could be... the four-legger body language was not lost in the shift, but simply translated into subtle expressions.
As if proving his point, his eyebrows raised to register surprise at the snatch of story Cwmfen offered him. "That gathering... that was the first time? But... you were so graceful, it all seemed so natural to you! You never once looked out of place," he wondered aloud. Even with her unique gaze and exotic markings, she had seemed a fluid tendril of nature, moving amongst them as though she had always been there. Her promotion to Adonis had gone to show that the others felt the same way. Slay's white-tipped ears fell back, lost in thought. Was he merely being self-conscious, then, thinking that he looked so outlandish on two feet? Did he, too, fit in as she had... or was she better at adapting than he? He felt a little more at ease, with the warrior's musical tones reassuring him that the time had been right. He often doubted his own judgment.
His fingers brushed against his sternum, a small gesture of pain and guilt. "I know," he admitted in a hollow whisper, bowing his head. He had put his Cercelee through so much. It was always difficult with him, and she had always deserved better. But she was a stubborn young thing, and she refused to let him go, despite his sleeping sickness, his lack of ambition, his catatonic response to all things unpleasant... "I feel as though she would be happier without me, but I am too selfish to release her," he admitted privately. He had never acknowledged that hidden fear aloud before, that his mate would one day wake and realize that she no longer required him. He didn't know much of anything regarding Cwmfen's lover, or whether or not she would have any opinion on the matter, but... it felt better to get it off of his chest. He was far too possessive to ever let his mate go her own separate way, but... if she desired it, nor could he deny her.
[/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... eather.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
It seemed as if the large male understood her weak attempt at humor, for he responded in like kind. She was glad to know that, while deficient, her societal efforts did not completely fail her. In the absence of the song of war within the current movement of her life, the lesser circle of society was all that the warrior experienced. It was not a derogatory view, merely the evidence of the priority of passion within her life. The faint smile flickered briefly as if she were laughing. But then the flickering had ceased and with it the smile had gone. The Raven Spear hummed with discontent.
The woad-marked fae observed the surprise that moved across the hunter’s features. "It was," the quiet voice confirmed. A soft smile was offered in thanks for the compliment. But it had not occurred to the warrior that she might ever be out of place—at least not in the way that Slay had assumed. She knew how out of place her warrior’s soul that thrived in solitude must be. "Know that your body was meant to be in this shape," the soft song offered after a moment of silence. "And trust that it will know." The subconscious would not make mistakes.
A faint smile moved across her quiet lips bittersweet with knowing. And how well she believed that she knew such a thing. She did not doubt the love that she felt for Onus, nor did she doubt the love that Onus felt for her. And that love had been strong enough for the masked vigilante to lose himself in the pleasures of carnal desire, a think with which had been unfamiliar to him. Even she had felt that love acutely enough to keep her carnal curiosities for him alone. And yet, Corvus had marked her as his own, physically, with the branding of ‘darkness’ near that most intimate place, and mentally with the brushing of that hollow soul upon her own, tainting it with every climatic act of that night and the night upon the fields of ice and the moment of her conception. And now her body had conceived of that black seed and bore it. It was a betrayal of her love. Her mind betrayed that love. Onus had seen and he had watched. And she watched him, knowing what he must think. And for once, the tranquility of the black fae was disturbed. And her mind wrapped itself upon the deftly spoken words of the diamond hunter. Was it selfish of her to be silent? Had it been selfish of her to kiss him the many moons ago?
"She did not seem unhappy," the quiet melody responded at length, and the song, as always, did not betray her thoughts. "But she was worried." She did not think that Cercelee would wish for slay to release her. But Cwmfen was uncertain and merely supposed. So she was silent and said no more to Slay, unable to further offer the consolation of which she was so unfamiliar to giving. Her white orbs, bright in the half-light of the day, considered the large hunter and wondered at the confliction that Slay and Cercelee were experiencing. She did not understand the nature of this confliction. But it was not her place to ask, for that information as not hers to know. Nor was it her place to offer words in an arena in which she did not excel.
[/html]
[html] Sorry I dragged this thread out so long, m'dear. ;_; You can close it if you like. Thanks for putting up with me yet again~
"Perhaps... you are right, Cwmfen. Since taking this shape, I haven't been tired... I haven't fallen asleep against my will," he admitted, wonderment creeping into his rumbling voice. His sleeping sickness, the narcolepsy he'd been born with, it had not plagued him and deprived him of his energy and will. He had not been this way for long, but immediately noticed the extra energy buoying his mood, the constant urge to yawn suspiciously absent. Embracing his heritage would have made life a lot easier if he had not been so stubborn to deny it.
"It's... difficult for me to accept changes. But I suppose I'm a fool to pretend they don't exist," he added with a rueful smile, a gentle joke at his own expense. He always felt like a fool before Cwmfen - her wisdom humbled him, made his silly humor sound hollow and juvenile. They shared most beliefs and even some similarities in their familial upbringing, but the Warrior adapted so fluidly and effortlessly to different lifestyles that she really put him to shame. He was so much slower to embrace pack life, duties, and even children, it seemed. He had no doubts that Cwmfen would be as good a mother as she was a Warrior - she was just good at everything, it seemed. Small wonder he had harbored hidden feelings for her when they first met. It would be impossible not to look up to her, at the very least.
His mate... she was not unhappy, but concerned for him. "She is too kind to me," he murmured with a slow smile. He'd make things better, he had to. Cercelee had to be the most patient wolf in the world, keeping his lazy hide around for so long and getting nothing out of the relationship. There was just something wrong with him - even when times were peaceful and life was easy, he rarely appreciated it. Such a pity. He would try to turn over a new leaf, with this new form of his - a new wolf, so to speak. "I won't disappoint her again. I would have nothing if she let me go... She shouldn't be worried the next time you meet with her," he assured with a smile, speaking more to himself than his packmate and friend. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me - your company is always a pleasure. And... I wish you good luck with your new family," he added hesitantly, a sheepish expression on his ducked face. He wanted her to be happy. That was what mattered most.
[/html]
|
