2024-07-17 - [6.4] A Wherry at Dawn

It was no secret that Xijemynth held a low opinion of their sire. Even stuck in the shell as she was, it was easy to see the reasons why piling up like so many grains of sand. Time and time again she saw it – every second, minute, hour that Gwillanth spent tending to them, with Yuakajth nowhere in sight. What kind of a father was he? Pertemarth was a far more constant presence in their company, and his thoughts far less odious. How Mother had ever let this male near her she would never understand, songs be flamed. Where was the so-called glory in this?

Inwardly, she knew that her and her siblings' presence was the very prize Jemeer sang of. That the sands had been occupied at all was the reason why Yuakajth crowed like a wherry at dawn. But Mothers, did he have to be so damn prideful about it? His thoughts grated on her like sand stuck between her paws. Salt ground against her hide and the wind picked up, water lashing against the shores of her mind like the jaws of a starving animal.

Xijemynth wasn’t sure if holding out hope for the entire bronze color was foolish or not. A part of her wanted to believe that a few good ones existed – the other desperately hoped she’d never have to do anything more than make polite small-talk and go on with her day. But more than any of that, she was simply struck with the sheer… baselessness of it all. What could ever be the point of such bravado? What purpose did acting like this (as if you owned everything, when you actually owned nothing) serve? What good did this overwhelming ambition do any of them, when only a few would ever get to exercise it?

Being Bronze was starting to look like an exercise in futility. It seemed to Xijemynth that living to fight for such petty scraps of recognition was a challenge that nobody truly won. Why sire eggs at all, if this was how you were going to act towards them? So oblivious to their hardship that you became callous, unfeeling as to the struggles and loss your own children had experienced. And being a mother? Being subjected to their gaze, their squabbles for your attention, and then shackled to the sands? She couldn’t think of an even worse punishment.

The only solace Xijemynth found as she rolled over in her egg, intent on tuning their sire out, was that she would never be party to any of that metallic business. She would be herself. She would be free.