"I . . . I should wish to impart her nomenclature."
The gentlemale bowed low once again. "That would be a most kind and welcome gesture."
Darius looked over the shoulder of the civilian to the cottage door that had been closed against the chill. Inside, somewhere, there was a female in mourning, one who had lost her young upon the birthing bed.
For truth, he knew something of that dark void's vast shadow as he prepared to give what was in his arms to another. He would ever be missing a part of his heart when he rode off from this wooded glen and this broken family who would now be made whole--but the young deserved the love that awaited her herein.
Darius's voice rang out, pronouncing, "She shall be called Xhexania."
The gentlemale bowed anew. " 'Blessed one.' Yes, that suits her beautifully."
There was a long pause during which Darius resumed his regard of that angelic face. He knew not when he would see her again. This family was her own now; she needed not two warriors o'erseeing her--and better that they not intrude. Two fighters visiting this quiet locale regularly? Questions might well be raised as to why and perhaps endanger the secret that had to surround her conception and birth.
To protect her, he must disappear from her life to ensure she was raised as a normal.
"Sire?" the gentlemale asked meekly. "Are you sure you wish to do this?"
"I'm sorry. But of course . . . I am very sure." Darius felt his chest burn as he leaned forward and placed the young in the arms of a stranger.
Her father.
"Thank you . . ." The male's voice cracked as he accepted the small weight. "Thank you for the light you have presented us in our darkness. Verily, though, is there naught we may do for you?"
"Be . . . be good to her."
"We shall." The male went to turn away and paused. "You are never coming back, are you."
As he shook his head, Darius could not take his eyes off the swaddling cloth the young's mother had made. "She is yours sure as if your bloodline had borne her. We shall leave her here in your fine care and trust you shall treat her well."
The gentlemale came forward and took Darius's upper arm. With a squeeze, he offered commiseration and reassurance. "You have put your faith in us wisely. And know that you are always welcome here to see her."
Darius inclined his head. "Thank you. May the blessed Virgin Scribe look with favor upon you and yours."
"And the same for you."
With that, the gentlemale walked through his door and entered his mated home. On a final lifted palm by way of good-bye, he shut himself in with the wee one.
As the stallions snorted and stamped their hooves, Darius walked around and glanced through wavy leaded glass, hoping to see--
O'er by a fire, upon a bed of clean linens, a female lay with her face turned toward the flaming warmth. She was pale as that which covered her, and her empty eyes reminded him of the tragic female who had passed unto the Fade before his own hearth.
The gentlemale's shellan did not sit up or look over as her hellren entered the bedchamber, and for a moment, Darius worried that he had made a mistake.
But the young must have let out a sound, because the female's head suddenly snapped around.
As she beheld the bundle that was presented to her, her mouth fell open, confusion and then awe filtering through her lovely features. Abruptly, she cast the coverlet from her arms and reached for the babe. Her hands were shaking so badly, her hellren had to place the young against her heart . . . but she held her newborn daughter in place all by herself.
'Twas the wind which made Darius's eyes water. Verily, 'twas but the wind.
As he brushed over his face with his palm, he told himself that all was well and how it should be. . . . even if he felt a mourning within his breast.
Behind him, his charger let out a roar and reared up against the hold on his reins, his massive hooves pounding against the earth. At the sound, the female in the bedchamber looked up with alarm and cradled her precious gift closely, as if she needed to protect the babe.
Darius wheeled away and blindly jogged over to his steed. With a leap, he was up on the back of the great beast, taking control of the animal, harnessing the power and rage that had been bred into its every muscle and bone.
"We shall go unto Devon," Darius said, needing a purpose more than he needed breath or heartbeat. "There are reports of lessers ."
"Aye." Tohrment looked back at the house. "But are you . . . of a proper spirit to fight now?"
" The war waits for no male to be of sound mind." Indeed, at times 'twas better to be in lunacy.
Tohrment nodded. "Onward to Devon, then."
Darius gave his stallion all the head it wanted and the warhorse burst forth from its enforced halt, galloping off into the woods, tearing o'er the ground. The wind in Darius's face cast his tears away, but did naught to cure the ache in his chest.