Her Mantle Upon Your Shoulders: Part 1

Starlight spilled out through the window in the west wall, throwing shadows onto the bed where two bodies laid together in slumbering stagnation. On the left side, a purring groan rumbled through a female sergal's throat, her arms clutching her mate closer that laid opposite to her, burying her muzzle into his furred shoulder. The male shuffled lightly, but remained locked in her strong grip.

The bedroom door slowly creaked on it's hinges, revealing a silhouette within the doorframe. The darkened figure remained frozen for a moment, afraid it had awakened the couple. Patiently and quietly, it crept forward, careful to not allow it's foot claws to click against the wooden floorboards. Without creating much sound, the figure stopped at the female's side of the bed to stare at her massive back. The female took in heavy breaths, torso pulsating as it rested on it's side. Finally, with the figure summoning up enough courage, it prodded the large female's gray-furred back with it's finger pads. She hardly moved with the stimuli. Then, with much more courage, the figure reached up and tugged at one of the female's ears. Nothing at first, but tug, tug, tug and the female finally took notice at the pulling of her hide.

Her eyes turned agape, head turning with a quickness to find...her child at the bedside.

"Brunka," the female groaned with annoyance, "what is it?" She realized her claws were out in offense and then retracted them back.

"I had a nightmare again," the cub said with much fear in her voice. "It was the one with swords."

"Well, come on" the mother scooted over a bit, creating a space between her and her mate for the child to take shelter in.

"Hmmm?" the male's sleep was interrupted, his head lifting up from the mattress.

"The cub," the mother explained. "It's all okay."

"Oh," and the male laid his head back down.

Brunka climbed up onto the sheets and settled herself into the warm valley between her parents, clinging to her mother's neck.

"You're going to have to stop this, Brunka," the mother told her. "This can't happen every night."

"I know, mother.  I'm sorry." She felt as if it was her fault, but she had tried for so long to forget. To put away the memories of swords, spears, and arrows cast in lethal motion. Of blood and fire and cackling screams. Memoires of her first years. But with each failure, she sought after the comfort of her mother and father where the dreams could not touch her. Each time, she was sculled by her mother, but the next night she would try again and, during a few nights, she would succeed in staying in her own bed. Those nights brought a temporary victory before another dream brought the same fear and defeat that made her scurry from her room. She would try, she told herself, but for now, she allowed sleep to find her again that night, hoping no phantom blades would come for her.