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[personal profile] mother_lost
The slight breeze that stirs the branches smells of apples. A delicate hand pushes sweat-soaked black hair off a brow, then strokes the cheek of the child, pale even through the flush of birthing.

The touch makes him open his eyes, and his mother draws in a little breath as tawny-gold eyes blink sleepily at wondering speedwell-blue ones.

"His eyes are an eagle's," says the harper softly.

"Not an eagle's," the mother whispers, and says in her heart, A raven's.

Bran.

Date: 2005-10-14 08:52 pm (UTC)
ext_27060: Sumer is icomen in; llude sing cucu! (Default)
From: [identity profile] rymenhild.livejournal.com
I don't know whose birthday it is -- it's not mine -- but oh, that's lovely. Thank you so much, even though you obviously didn't write it for me. :)

Date: 2005-10-15 01:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] maydaybrat.livejournal.com
Oh, that's lovely. *hugs*

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Guinevere

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