SWAN SONG

She?d been alone for so long, coming to the islands to isolate herself, hopping from island to island in search of somewhere to settle. Keeping the life in her womb alive was her only thought; they needed her to run, to survive, and so she would do her best. A rogue?s life was not easy, and a pregnant rogue?s life was worse. As her stomach swelled with new life, she found it more difficult to move, to hunt, and again she felt cursed with a large litter of children. Cursed, for she knew that more children meant more pain, more agony when she had to trust someone to carry them to Taurig and never see them again. She had thought birthing them might fare better, and yet she was wrong. They were her only company these days; she would whisper to them of her love, of how much she wished she could watch them grow, of how beautiful and strong they would be, of how many roads lay before them.
Argent the warrior was dying a cancerous death, but Argent the mother remained clinging to her life.
When two rogue males stumbled upon her, a far from innocent look in their eyes, she thought it would be the end. She feared what they would do; would they violate her, would they break her into many bleeding punished pieces, weapons of the gods sent to demolish what remained? She?d been punished thusly once, and her mind did its best to block away the memories, and yet she still felt raw with pain. Above all, she feared for the children she had, the children whom she had risked so much for.
When they approached her, she gave a fight.
She could not move well, and yet she?d done her best. Jaws and claws lashed out defensively, and she?d left a few wounds upon them, and yet there was a decisive snap as one of their jaws crushed down upon her leg that determined the outcome of the fight. Two versus one was hardly fair, especially when the one had recently birthed four children and not sound of health. One of the victor?s jaws seized her scruff, and she squirmed helplessly, wishing that something would come to save her children should she perish. And yet, she could only imagine that nothing would. Here she was; beaten, broken, abused, and hopeless. There was no light in her eyes when she fought, not anymore. She was of use to no one, not that she had ever truly been. Here and now, she was helpless to what her attackers desired, and she could only face such a fear with whatever strength she had left.