[Tuesday--Moon Time]
Jul. 25th, 2005 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
birthrightgreenThe morning came clear and sunny. Surreal didn't notice. Or rather, she did, peeking one eye up at the sun. And then she whimpered. Because, Mother Night, that hurt. Not the sunlight. The pain in her abdomen.
She tried to close the curtains, knowing what even that little bit of Craft would cost her. The rippling pain seemed worth it to avoid getting out of bed. Her tiny cry was enough to bring Graysfang bounding in, though.
He could smell what was wrong without asking. Any male could. It was a protective instinct developed over generations. Females wielded great power, but the first three days of their moontime they couldn't use it. Any use of Craft would be painful. The larger the use, the more excruciating. Without the use of Craft, they were vulnerable. Males could sense it. They tended to band around their chosen females to protect them from other males, or rival females, at that point, becoming fiercely protective. Warlord Princes had been known to rise to the killing edge at the slightest perceived threat.
The darker the Jewels she wore, the more debilitating the witch's moontime was, as if it had to balance the immense power she commanded the other 25 days of her cycle. A witch could stop her moontime for maybe one month, drawing on her power if the need was great, but she'd pay for it the next cycle.
Surreal had stopped hers the month before. Something was going on and in the pain she was in now, she couldn't remember what, but it had seemed a prudent sacrifice at the time. Everything has a price. She was paying it. Not much to do but wait it out. Curl up. Read. Try to sleep.
Daemon brewed good tonics to ease the pain, if she remembered properly, but she couldn't quite bring herself to call for him. Not yet. He got so growly and fussy and while petting didn't seem actually that bad of an idea right now, even sending a thought along a Green thread would be too much effort.
Graysfang leapt up onto the bed, circled three times, and curled up next to her, a warm presence. He didn't sleep, though. His eyes flicked back and forth between the balcony door and her bedroom door, searching for a threat. If she was in too much pain he'd go get someone, but for now he just nuzzled her a bit and urged her back to sleep.
It was a sign of how much it hurt and how drained she felt that she didn't protest.
ooc: If anyone wants to stop by with tonics or novels or gentle petting and conversation, feel free. Just needed a reason she wasn't off doing things or reading her friend's list or whatever for the next three days and this seemed a good canon reason. ;)
She tried to close the curtains, knowing what even that little bit of Craft would cost her. The rippling pain seemed worth it to avoid getting out of bed. Her tiny cry was enough to bring Graysfang bounding in, though.
He could smell what was wrong without asking. Any male could. It was a protective instinct developed over generations. Females wielded great power, but the first three days of their moontime they couldn't use it. Any use of Craft would be painful. The larger the use, the more excruciating. Without the use of Craft, they were vulnerable. Males could sense it. They tended to band around their chosen females to protect them from other males, or rival females, at that point, becoming fiercely protective. Warlord Princes had been known to rise to the killing edge at the slightest perceived threat.
The darker the Jewels she wore, the more debilitating the witch's moontime was, as if it had to balance the immense power she commanded the other 25 days of her cycle. A witch could stop her moontime for maybe one month, drawing on her power if the need was great, but she'd pay for it the next cycle.
Surreal had stopped hers the month before. Something was going on and in the pain she was in now, she couldn't remember what, but it had seemed a prudent sacrifice at the time. Everything has a price. She was paying it. Not much to do but wait it out. Curl up. Read. Try to sleep.
Daemon brewed good tonics to ease the pain, if she remembered properly, but she couldn't quite bring herself to call for him. Not yet. He got so growly and fussy and while petting didn't seem actually that bad of an idea right now, even sending a thought along a Green thread would be too much effort.
Graysfang leapt up onto the bed, circled three times, and curled up next to her, a warm presence. He didn't sleep, though. His eyes flicked back and forth between the balcony door and her bedroom door, searching for a threat. If she was in too much pain he'd go get someone, but for now he just nuzzled her a bit and urged her back to sleep.
It was a sign of how much it hurt and how drained she felt that she didn't protest.
ooc: If anyone wants to stop by with tonics or novels or gentle petting and conversation, feel free. Just needed a reason she wasn't off doing things or reading her friend's list or whatever for the next three days and this seemed a good canon reason. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-26 04:58 am (UTC)ooc: *g* oops? wrong journal.