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Storms were not uncommon on Alternia. The squalls were every bit as violent as the planet's vicious inhabitants. Lightning sought to rend the plains open and split the trees. The thunder shook the earth. Alternia's denizens fled for shelter, tucking into their hives to ride out the seasonal monsoon that came each Dim. Young wrigglers were ushered inside by lusus- carried by teeth or claw.
Only one was carried by hand. She had no safe Hive for her charge, no comfortable recooperacoon to lay his head in. She wrapped him safe in bundles of fine silks, held him close to her breast. The signless child buried his face to her neck and keened softly. For his small size, his lungs were powerful and voice strong.
Once in her life she may have been concerned with the mud that slapped her long jade skirts, but the Lady's only focus was rushing him into safety and silencing his cries. If she were to be found with a wriggler, still fresh from his cocoon, she would be reprimanded at best, and sent in bondage back to her station in the brooding caves. A culling was more likely for her- though she did not fear it. She feared her ward being discovered- and slaughtered for his strange blood hue.
It startled her at first, too- the color of a ripe cherry, brighter than any maroon, but certainly not the color of the Horrorterrors' ilk. While she missed his teeny feelers, that clicked and wiggled when she pet his soft back, the Lady had grown fond of feeling her child's fingers clutching onto her clothing.
"Hush now, darling one," she crooned, "Shoosh, shush, shush! If you keep vociferating, we will only be captured! Shoosh now."
Perhaps she had been sharper than necessary. The rain soaked her through- but she drew the silk over his head- his nubbed horns that were as blunt as her thumb. She was no stranger to caves, and felt relief pour through her body when her eyes fell on one within dashing distance. It was not the most hospitable cave she had taken refuge in, but it would do.
A sweep of travel had made the Lady used to this routine. She sat her precious bundle down in his wrappings, spread out a mat of woven reeds, a thick woolbeast fleece, and then another of her fine silks. She longed for pillows to pile and nest in- but one was enough to rest on for the glare of day. A fire was next- away from the damp walls and entrance, tucked behind rocks so it could not be seen from a distance.
In her fiddlings, the child continued to wail. The Lady had been so preoccupied with setting up their camp she had nearly grown deaf to her boy. He reminded her of his needs by tugging on the muddy hem of her skirt. Her jade eyes scanned the horizon, searching for danger or intruders. As soon as she knew they were safe, the Lady finally turned to tend to the child.
"Whatever is it, child?" Her voice was soft, musical, the beginning of each word a new note.
Thunder cracked through the dark clouds and his face crumpled. Her features softened as she slipped her hands under his arms to lift. While he was no longer just a tiny handful of wriggler, the signless child was still light enough for her to gather into one arm. A sweep of care had taught her to check his body and clothing in various spots. Was he wet? Hungry? Dirty? Tired? Sick? Another clap of thunder brought a bright sob.
"Ah, I understand," she murmured into his mop of dark hair. "It is only the clamor of the heavens."
Her words did little to assuage him. Shifting his weight onto her hip- she held one hand outside the mouth of the cave. The rain collected in the cup of her palm, and she brought it to his chubby face.
"It is only water. Taste."
He was hesitant, but bowed his head to suckle the fresh rainwater from her hand.
"When the earth is pained by sun and by war," she explained, "The sky cries for her, heals her wounds."
The Lady swayed her body gently, bouncing the child on her side to cheer him. Using her free hand, she tugged a poppy blossoms from the mouth of the cavern. Its fine carmine petals sagged from the weight of the water, but a swift flick of the wrist rid it of most of the droplets.
"And coats her in the most lovely greenery."
The signless child took the poppy in one grubby fist. The Lady took a moment to admire the color- brushing the soft fronds to the boy's nose.
"It is through pain that we receive the reward of color and beauty, my love." She whispered.
The concept was probably too sophisticated for the child, but he soothed nonetheless, tiny fingers playing with the poppy as if it were a grand toy. The Lady withdrew into the cavern, sheltering his head with her shawl. She delighted in how small he was at times- compared her hand to his, grasped his round limbs in her palms. For now, however, she was simply grateful his tears had stopped.
She sat on the makeshift bed, her legs curled beneath her demurely, and pulled the child onto her lap. The boy was still transfixed with the poppy, but he soon turned his attention to her. His face was still swollen and pink from tears, but at least now he seemed pacified. His round, soft body fit just so into the crook of her elbow, and he lay his cheek to her breast to watch her expressions change.
How could she protect this armful of heresy? She was only one troll. Eventually there would be no cave safe enough, dark enough or big enough to hide him inside, and every storm would seek to rip him apart. At times she wondered if she was only staving the inevitable, seeking to give him a good life while he could live to enjoy it. Her serene features twisted into despair.
The child matched her frown, and he plucked a damp leaf off the poppy stalk. A bit of struggling to reach, and the boy rubbed patient, slow circles with the leaf along her arm, soaking her with rainwater. His efforts melted her fears for at least one evening. She kissed the leaf, green as her eyes.
Their fire was warm and full now, and lulling the boy to sleep. He rested his head to her heart, settling down to listen. The same storm that had frightened him so now became his lullaby. He still clutched the poppy in one fist, dangling limply over the Lady's arm. She would remain still all through the day. The sanctuary of her arms let him sleep as the sun burnt away all the tears it found.
In time the earth would be stained with spilt red, red as poppies, and storm nor rain could mend Her wounds.