fa’liya had chosen the far side of the crown because no one came there unless they wished to be alone, and she wished, very badly, to be nothing at all.
the ground beneath her was ruined, bearing the thin, sour mess of what little she had managed to swallow that morning, yellowed bile and half-digested meat. her jaws hung parted over it, strings of spit swaying from her lips before snapping against the ground. another heave seized her ribs before it came up empty, and her whole slight body folding around the pain as if something inside her meant to claw its way free.
behind her, distant and muffled by trees, the camp was bursting with life. thirteen children born through the season of spring, five of them her father's—five little mouths. five little bodies that grew against iglux’s belly, five little lives that would blossom beneath the attention of both mother and father. five futures soft and new and loud with life, while fa’liya stood at the edge of it all like a shadow cast by an old fire.
she had told herself she was glad. she had told herself a chieftain always had need for more children, that saatsine always needed stronger blood, that it was deserved, the happiness that they could bring. it is all a lost cause, in the end. she could not help but be bitter. it sat under her ribs where breath already came hard and warmed itself there while she watched her father become someone else’s beginning.
oh, how it stung, to know what could've been—what would have been.
so the girl had learned to scarce upon approach. it is made possible with the help of her condition, a strange silver lining.
more bile does fa’liya spit out. her claws curled into the dirt with trembling shoulders as she lowered her brow, dizzy.
the ground beneath her was ruined, bearing the thin, sour mess of what little she had managed to swallow that morning, yellowed bile and half-digested meat. her jaws hung parted over it, strings of spit swaying from her lips before snapping against the ground. another heave seized her ribs before it came up empty, and her whole slight body folding around the pain as if something inside her meant to claw its way free.
behind her, distant and muffled by trees, the camp was bursting with life. thirteen children born through the season of spring, five of them her father's—five little mouths. five little bodies that grew against iglux’s belly, five little lives that would blossom beneath the attention of both mother and father. five futures soft and new and loud with life, while fa’liya stood at the edge of it all like a shadow cast by an old fire.
she had told herself she was glad. she had told herself a chieftain always had need for more children, that saatsine always needed stronger blood, that it was deserved, the happiness that they could bring. it is all a lost cause, in the end. she could not help but be bitter. it sat under her ribs where breath already came hard and warmed itself there while she watched her father become someone else’s beginning.
oh, how it stung, to know what could've been—what would have been.
so the girl had learned to scarce upon approach. it is made possible with the help of her condition, a strange silver lining.
more bile does fa’liya spit out. her claws curled into the dirt with trembling shoulders as she lowered her brow, dizzy.
fuck.