The Lost Islands
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Home is where your teeth sink in


I’ll keep the door open
in case you come home

The wrenching, suffocating pain of Shvana’s loss had been lightened that day he fought with Mṛgaśira. The wound was open, but not bleeding; ragged, but no longer livid and weeping. Slowly, it begins to close, and Fell knows that it will leave a scar.

When Mṛgaśira goes off on her own, Fell is not hiding himself away, but watching calmly over the herd. His eyes follow her, and though his heart thunders with anxiety, he knows she has to do this on her own. Still, that doesn’t stop him from following a short distance, and making a broad circle around the place where she has chosen. He drives away the wildlife he can find; foxes, deer, even squirrels and pine martens are not overlooked. His little patrol is far enough away from the red sabino mare that she is unlikely to hear him, but perhaps she can scent him every once in a while on the air as the breeze passes over his broad back and through his coarse black mane.

When he is certain there is no danger close by, Fell returns to the herd to wait. The birth doesn’t take long, and soon Fell’s attention is pulled from the mares at the edge of the valley meadow and back toward the trees, where Mṛgaśira emerges leading a lanky little shadow. Your son.

A small shiver thrills through him. He had experienced a similar feeling when Khoshekh had been born, his first son; and with his first daughters, as well. There is something similarly novel, something first, about the painted infant colt before him now.

Fell ducks down to brush his muzzle against the child’s in greeting. “Maha,” he whispers, cutting himself off before he can manage to ruin the full name. A nickname is just fine, in his opinion. Maha; my son. He pulls his head up, tossing it with a small, coarse squeal of excitement. He is careful to contain himself and not startle either the colt or his mother, but it’s impossible not to celebrate at least a little. Then, settling once more, he turns to Mṛgaśira and runs his whiskered lips tenderly over her forehead.
FELL
stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.



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