Cadence to Arms

Red veils swept around her, six lithe and muscular figures dancing nude, save for their taut boots and silk veils. She stripped off her clothing slowly, shamefully, unable to squash that little piece of revulsion as her fingers swept across firm packed muscle instead of matronly breasts,

When her long muscular fingers slid past lean and bony hips.

When the spill of silver-white hair fell in front of her face instead of auburn braids gone to gray.

Tears flowed freely. It had been some months, but now, as her brothers and sisters in Joy danced around her, it all came crashing back.

Blood.

Screams.

The cold....and the moment....

That horrible, wrenching moment....

When the Lady took her hand to join the last dance...the dance of Elysium.....

And their hands were torn apart by magic.

Her hands....

Oh Sweet Lady, dry my tears....

Cadence stared at his hands, his long muscular legs, the lashing tail that curled around him....

He felt the weight of the horns on his head....not as heavy as the weight of loss in his heart.

No more babies to lift to his breast and sing to as they fed. No more the weight of a child resting beneath his heart and safe within his flesh as it grew.....

Loss swiftly becomes determination. The instinct is still there, whether breast and womb are or not.

Eyes like silver coins lift and Cadence rises. He is handed new boots, and he checks the hidden mechanism in each carefully. He feels the weight of Lliira’s regard. He accepts the touch of her fingers across his soul.

If no more children would be born to Cadence....

He would damn well protect the ones he had.