Moonlight in the Gutter puddles, Sunlight on the Flower Pedals

Being a mother is no different if the children are of blood or heart. Mother has many children and she loves them all, but this is her first blood child born to the Earth

 

‘Moonlight in the gutter puddles, Sunshine on the flower petals’

            There she stood, the rave of the new day singing at her fingertips as her hands stretched towards the watercolor sky. Her tan skin pulled over her weary bones creaking with protest, like a quill to parchment. Eyes of old English ivy, and skin a brown color from a light sun kissing. The whisper of the blowing wind, which never had a permanent place or direction, coursed across her arms forming chills as it took some comforting warmth with it on its endless journey. Her hair danced in the gusts, and shone with the brilliance of the sun, so blonde, it’s as if the two were one. Though the body showed weary and worn, the spirit could not be hidden in the infinite depths of green, the lack of pupil disconcerting. Standing as still as a branch in the snow, she listened, the life and living going on all around rose her spirits and heightened her mood incredibly. Pressing a small hand to her swollen belly, she looked down on humanity and smiled. At this moment in time, the world stood at peace, for the time being at least. Departing from the wooden steps at her toes onto the greenery of the grass and flowers, she slowly made her way to each individual one, paying to it the attention it would need to grow, and bloom, and eventually die. The cycle went on forever, and her last stop was to see off the old mighty oaks, and elms, or withering willows, flowers too, to see them off on the last part of their long or short lives, and to collect the seeds too which they produced to be reborn, just saplings again. With a quiet sigh, she turned, heading back into the den of a home. The rather large house stood grand and tall, a structure to impose all. The frame made of still living trees, intertwining themselves so close together, the tears of the water gods did not so much as seep through where they were not wanted. She lowered herself on to a moss coated chair made of jutted and oddly shaped roots as if a tree grew upside down, the leaves in the ground. As sharp as the twists and turns of the knarred appendages were, they provided a comfort around the cozy home, gentle when the woman was with child, but they were known to thwart sticky fingers, and coddling crooks, and would draw on blood a few times. They were all that was this shelter, this home, and they made it a perfect place for a child to grow, some times un-supervised. Resting a hand on her belly once more, she heaved with a breath like lead, and pushed all the air from her tiny, yet powerful lungs. She had chosen to give birth to this child the mortal way, and there was only one way to do that, return to the mortal realm, and wake the child in a hospital. He was after all, getting quite impatient. He’d spent the last six years in the womb of his mother, and wanted out. Though she thought she could still put off the time, maybe for another year or two, but what better day then today? The human world stood at peace for the time being, and her son was ripe to come into the world of that which he was being held from. In her dreams, she had found that he would grow quite handsome, but at the moment, all he was worried about was exploring the world just barely at his finger tips. He had already learned so much through her, but he yearned for more, a calling of destiny seeking him out, and she would halt it no longer.   A sturdy oak spirit, the father to her latest children would accompany her down to the mortal realm, but that was till later. He had yet returned from unsettled business, some nymphs or sprites, stirring up a bit of chaos. She had a good chuckle at her lover’s expense when he had come home a tad disgruntled, his hair a complete contrast to what it should have been. The normally glossy green tresses that she admired so, stood out on his head, a stark purple in the morning sun. She later found out that he had been one of the less fortunate, where others’ shades where merely tinted or speckled with the outrageously bright, annoying colors. She only found humor in what the tiny creatures did, for these were at least benevolent ones, not some crooked scarecrow stealing children out from under their sleeping parents’ watchful eye, with just the tinkling of a silver bell, a changeling left in its place. No, these creatures were harmless to most extent, and only wished to lighten the wizened, stern attitudes of the Great Oaks. Her husband had been one of the fools to keep his humor from a sapling, and he still tried his luck time and time again. She’d caught him many times redecorating with clouds and wraith souls in the colored jars that the fairies made. Those poor souls, she’d set them free time after time, but here, in a universe parallel to the humans, time really meant nothing, just the passing of seasons, and the withering of the blooms. Another sigh escaped her pouted lips, and she shook herself from despair, already feeling the confusion from her son. He has yet to understand emotion, his innocence still pure. Standing, she busied herself by thinking of the craving of sweets she was getting. One of the many things that being immortal did not fend off, the odd cravings when with child. Moving over to the cupboard, she opened the drawers. Nothing, well that’s a lie, her husband kept inventory over everything, but there was nothing to her taste at this moment. Then she spied it, sitting just to the left behind the honey, on the very top self. A clay jar, bigger then her hand width wise, and about a foot long, the cookie jar. Some of the honey and oat bars would sit perfectly with some orange slices on the side. Stretching up on her toes, her arm extended to its longest length, she stretched out her frame, aiming for the jar on the highest self. Her long fingers just brushing the shelf surface and jar bottom. ‘Still too short.’ Placing her right hand on the counter, she levered herself up a little higher, and tried again. Her dress made of spider silk and fairy magic rode up her knee, tickling her as a thick tress of blonde escaped its confinement in the hair tie, and danced in her eyes. Huffing it out of her eyes, she didn’t feel the warm hand on hers till she felt the actual warmth of it permeate her skin. The hands of her partner rested at the small of her back, supporting her unbalanced figure. Skin the color of oak bark, and eyes a shade darker, her mate stood at her side. Lifting the jar effortlessly from the self, he placed it on the counter and turned to look at the woman. “I hid these for a reason.” His voice was bellowing and large, but soft and gentle at all the same. Contrast at its best. It was a cross between a growl, a chuckle, and silk on steel. She faced him with a dead-panned face and a spark in her eye. “And what might that reason be if you should be so bold to tell me?” Her voice a commanding thing, yet light and lithe, soft and quiet. Her grumble was met with a raised brow, and an amused chuckle. Curse those hormones, another thing that had yet to pass, the mood changes. ‘How he put up with me for these last six years, I’ll never know.’ She thought to herself, waiting for a reply. “Simply because, my love, you spoil that child rotten. No good will come from it, I haven’t the patience for a brat.” He lowered his face to be even with hers for he stood a full head higher then her. A grin cracked his strong features, and she couldn’t help but smile herself. He really did know how to bring her from a grotesque mood. Throwing her arms around his neck, she firmly planted a kiss to his still smirking lips. “Good morn my love.” She said after breaking it, not for air, just out of habit. Poking her in the forehead he replied “Good noon. Where’ve you been all day?” The rhetorical question was answered with a quirk of surprise.

“Tis noon already? I’ve yet to make my second rounds.” Hurrying off to the den door, she was greeted by an arm draped just over her belly, and her husband whispering in her ear.

“Let the sprits take care of that, you aren’t supposed to be taxing yourself. They will be fine this one time.” His words were met with the action of drawing her away from the door, and back to the kitchen. Promptly nudging her to and on to a seat, he busied himself at the counter. After a few intense minutes of silence, the woman’s voice broke it, a quiet question, left hanging in the air. “What are you doing?” she was met with silence, till about five minutes later; he turned on his heel, and presented what he had been working on. A bowl of chunks of cookies crumbles, and orange slices in a milky white sauce. Setting it down in front of her, he handed her a fork and a spoon, and sat down at the other end of the table. Her eyes glazed over as she eyed the delicious treat, unaware of her mate watching her with smug satisfaction. Diving in, she inhaled the food, with little regard to anything else, but surprisingly made no mess. Her husband sat with his chin nestled on his intertwined finger, his elbows resting on the table. His dark gaze never strayed or faltered, and a sweet smile had settled comfortably on his face. Finishing off her scrumptious dessert, she looked up, eyes locking with the man across the table. Realizing he had been watching the whole time, she calmly raised her head, stood gracefully, and then softly placed her dish and utensils in the basin, them being placed so carefully they didn’t even clink on the hard polished surface. Gliding over the stone floor, she folded her arms, placing her hands in the large billows of her sleeves, and slide past her lover without a glance, her face always forward, chin up. “Next time take a picture, it will last longer.” Though she had meant to say it in humor, the icy tendrils of her supremacy crept in, lacing the words harsh. That was the way she spoke with the spirits and creatures that had broke the laws. She had not meant it to come out that way; she regretted it the minute it was out past her lips. But, she could not take it back. As a goddess, she had to always be confident in what she did or said. She could not double cross her words, it was just how it was. That means in some deep part of her, she really was enraged over his mannerisms, to stare, how rude. Still, her tone was uncalled for, and she would have to apologize. Before a second for which her thoughts had passed, she was twirled and shoved roughly against the coinciding wall, an angry spirit in her face. His dark callously soft eyes burning with hurt, disbelief, and raw anger, she saw what he saw. Mirrored in the lengthy depths of his invisible pupils she saw herself, eye’s wide and doe like, a petit hand clutching at the much larger hand that had grabbed a fist full of her garment at the neck, and its opposite wrapped around her swollen stomach, the limbs shaking just slightly. She could taste the concern, and fear from the child. But it was mostly fear, though it was laced with a curtain of not understanding, the child wasn’t sure what had angered his father so. He was innocent; he had yet to fully understand manners, and standings. She knew her husband could taste the feeling too, and his knuckles slowly unclenched enough to allow the robe to slip past. Dropping his arm to his side like a snake striking, he stared her in the eyes for a moment longer before stalking out.   Slowly sinking to the floor, she held her head in her hands, thinking hard over what just happened. Distantly, in the back of her mind, a voice noted that all had stopped. The birds no longer sang harmoniously, the sprits’ buzzing wings had ceased, the call of wildlife halted. A gentle finger touched her wrist, and she nearly jumped a foot. A gasp slash squeak emanated from the person above her. Lifting her head up quickly, her eyes met Finnigin’s. Finnigin was a “Custode del fiore”, a “De Bewaarder van de bloem”, a “Flower Keeper”. He watched over the flowers as they grew in the human realm, and this realm. His normally blue skin was nearly white, and his normally white pupil-less eyes were a jet black, and larger in diameter. His face held a surprised and frightened look upon it. His brow creased in unease, which meant only one thing. Her charges had felt her fear, felt it as their own, had felt the furious tree spirit at their throats as she just had.  Calmly, well, as calmly as she could muster, she hoisted herself (with the help of Finnigin) up from her stooped position, and walked with him out side. With each step she took, her confidence gained once again, and soon the fear and confusion had dispersed already, leaving nothing but the confusion in her child. Perhaps he had called out, when she would not. Perhaps Finnigin was the closest, and was urged to appear before her. She would have a talking with her son when he was born. He still had much to learn. Steadily the noise returned, starting up slow and progressing with each step she took. Her charges took in the love and nurturing she gave out greedily, but she had plenty to share. Finnigin bowed his leave, and took off at a sprint to his station, one of the many gateways between realms.

She would have to go and fetch him; he would not come of his own willing. Not unless he feared for her safety. Not unless he feared for the child’s safety. Lazily, she walked to the grove where she knew he would be hidden in. it was some walks away and by the time she got there, the sun was hot overhead. Spring, the buds were ripening and the cool mist had swayed in on the wind. The shade provided a coolness that could not be found under the sun. The Great Oaks, so tall it would pain your neck to look to the height they reached. The canopy of green blocked the sun. The dirt around the grove was cool to the touch, but grass was sparse and far in between. Finally having reached her destination, she stood facing the wise and very tall trees. Slightly irked at having to wait for him, she began circling the small grove. Comparably, this grove was small and close knit, and for good reason. Her husband trusted few at his back, as he would never let her out of his sight. Where ever she might be, he was always conscious of her. He was always fearful someone would do something to cause her harm, or cause the child harm. There were very few ways she could pass on; if she naturally went like the bloom, if an immortal took her life, or in childbirth. Many generations of her ancestors had forbidden the birth of a god the human way as it was more prone to killing the mother. Her lover had not been happy when he had heard that and had set to try and make her change her ways. But what was done was done and it was far to late to back out on this, backing out would risk her losing the baby. Passing the third largest of the oaks a second time, she caught sight of a wisp of his hair in the near nonexistent breeze. He stood toward the inside of the tightly compacted trees, his face down, eyes glancing away from hers. He looked like a petulant child. He stayed turned, his side facing her rather then his front. She pursed her lips, and the child wanted to know what she found so amusing. She told it that been he was older he would understand. They stood there for some seconds before she grew weary of waiting.

“Tell me, why do you hide?” Circling around the tree carefully, she eyed him up and down, both admiring his stature and looking for signs of emotion that would be able to tip her off.

“I could have harmed you or the child.” H dragged out what he was saying. That was not like her mate to do that. He would have broached the subject strongly, not doubting his words. Taking a step toward him, she was glad he did not step away.

“But you did not. Do not feel for what has not happened.” Reaching out for him, h took a step back and disappeared into his domain. She could force her way in, but that would make his angry or break his trust. Sighing, she had to think of a way to coax him out. The child wanted to now what was going on, and urged his mother to tell him. He persisted to the point where she felt weak in the knees from dizziness. Placing a hand to her head, she tried to steady herself. Still taking a step forward, her small bare foot caught on a root, and tripped her. Fear flushed all her systems.

The child will be harmed.

Again, all sound died except for her rapid heart beating and her pulse flowing like lava in her veins.

A strong arm shot out from under her left arm to stretch across her chest and hold her right shoulder. The other hand gripped her right hip tightly.

“You should not treat your mother so young one.” His voice surrounded my head and his breath was on my neck, faster then what it would have been normally. He sounded rushed and his hands gave a slight tremor. The fear. She had given her fear to them again, and they were feeling it as their own. She really would need to get a hold on that. Her voice slipped passed her lips before she had time to think.

“You’re shaking…” It was just above a whisper, as if even she did not dare break the fearful silence of the inhabitants of the woods. He righted them, setting her carefully back down on her feet. He held her still when she tried to turn toward him.

“I’m sorry, I really should learn to control those emotions.” Her back was molded into his front as if he was scared to let her go. Slowly, she calmly reassured those around them and the calm feeling spread. The silence died down first with the chirping of birds and then the whistle of the wind. The resumed once more as though nothing had taken place. She realized he still shook, even after the serenity had settled on the ground.

“Why do you shake?” Again, she tried turning but found her rooted to the place where she stood, his arm a heavy anchor.

“I shake not because of your fear but because of my own. You make me fear many things for you and the child. You could have been hurt in the fall, and you may have lost the child. I could not bear to see you in such agony as a mother losing her baby, nor could I bare the thought of losing him myself. You should be home, resting. Not running about where you could come to harm.” Slowly, taking more time then the rest of the creature took, he calmed and found peace. Determined to face her husband now, she forced herself around in his grasp, only for him to disappear at the last second behind the large tree that his spirit had been born from. Pouting, she mentally scolded him. Why was he making this so difficult? The wind braced her back as she stared at the tree balefully. This was becoming rather tiring. Thinking hard and fast, she came to her plan and smiled wickedly. Before she was with child, when they were more carefree, when they had been young lovers and not parents, she would call his attention away from his affairs by doing that she was about to do.

The idea came so fast the memories of her calling his attentions when they were younger flooded her senses. A few times he appeared flustered, stating he was in the middle of something important, and others he would appear amused with her antics or with a smoldering gaze that sent thrills up her back. The smiled played on her face a bit longer before it was forced away. She didn’t want her lover to know of her plans, but chances were that he already knew she was up to some mischief. Circling the grove, she dragged her fingertips along the rough bark. Leaning against the third tallest tree, she curled her body up against the front. Laying her head down, she rubbed her finger down the length almost as if stroking a chest or arm. Sighing sleepily, she tilted slightly and pressed her soft lips to the bark. She only need wait a moment before a firm, warm body folded into her, pressing her lightly against the wise giant.

“That’s hardly fair little one. You know very well what the does to me.” She smiled and bowed back into his hold. He hummed quietly, the noise rumbling in his chest, the feeling passing through her back and making her tingle.

“You’re going to have to find a new name. It will be confusing with the baby.” He arched over her back, burying his face in her neck.

“The others were making remarks again. They like to make fun. Though some of their comments I would prefer not said. And yes, I do suppose I will need a new pet name. Tell me, what would you like?” Pulling out of his embrace, she captured his hand, and pulled him along.

“I would like for us to go home and relax. And then I would like for us to have this child before the night is up. He is being very temperamental.” She patted her stomach absently and tugged her husband’s hand a little harder. Turning gradually, he followed her at a slower pace, keeping behind her. After some minutes of walking like this, he sped up to walk next to her, draping an arm around her lower back. She was tiring out from the stressful day. Her purple robes clung to her shape, the bottom hem brushing the tops of her dainty feet. They trekked for some time before they came upon their home, and he ushered her in. After a protest on her behalf, he helped her into bed.

It was some hours later she woke. The sun was low, the golden rays just peeking through the windows. The air was cool and the swaying of branches could be heard from the bedroom. Getting up, she patted her stomach twice. Her nightgown was thin against the breeze. She started to shiver just as she got into the hall. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wondered where her lover had gone off too. They would have to leave for the mortal realm soon.

“Askuwheteau?” Her voice was firm but it was still logged with sleep. As if on command, a quilt was dropped over her shoulders and an arm was wrapped around her back. He led her along into the kitchen where he had her sit.

“I wish you would stay in bed like you are supposed to.” He rubbed her shoulders lightly before disappearing behind her back.

“What are you making?” She was answered with his hum.

Author's Note

Again, this isn't finished, just soemthing i'm working on. Let me know how t is going so far.