What's wrong?
She doesn't hear him, doesn't see him; she thrashes in a crimson sea of pain, striving desperately to resurface after each wave of agony that washes over her. It is terrifying beneath the surface; an endless void that threatens to consume her, a darkness that Lilika intuitively knows she will be unable to escape. Battered and besieged by constant torment, however, the waves lash at her will; and as her grasp on reality begins to slip, a grey haze envelops her, and her agony fades to a dull ache. Distant and detached, and lingering on the brink of unconsciousness, her misted gaze finally meets Gnome's, and holds it as the single, slender thread that binds her to life.
In the absence of conscious thought, Lilika succumbs to the instincts that seek control of her body. She finds that she is able to keep abreast of the waves of agony, riding them to their crest instead of letting them overwhelm her. And at each peak, she bears down with a strength she didn't know she had - until slowly, painstakingly, a tiny pair of hooves emerge, followed by two thin, angular limbs that reveal the cause of her troubles; the filly is turned the wrong way. Straining again, a rump emerges, then a belly. At this point, even her greatest efforts fail to yield any further progress; having already endured nearly an hour of painful labor, Lilika does not possess the strength to force the foal's shoulders through.
Stand up, a voice speaks firmly in the corner of her mind. The blue roan's limbs stir feebly for a moment, her head half-lifting from the grass, but after a moment it drops again in resigned defeat. Lily, get up. You're dying, Lily, stand up! The words in her mind are spoken with Gnome's voice, a voice that is both warm with love and concern, and cold with an edge of fear. For a moment, her mind is unable to grasp this truth. I'm dying? And then the impact of the words hit her; a sharp blow to the abdomen that has her writing again. But I can't die! Gnome needs me...our child needs me... Somehow, she borrows the strength to lurch upright, allowing gravity to do what her body cannot. After the long hour of torment, it is almost comical how quickly it is suddenly over; the newborn filly tumbles gently to the grass, and Lilika collapses into a heap beside her, stretching her muzzle yearningly toward the stallion and their daughter even as she goes spinning down into the blackness.
And it is there that they both lay, the filly unmoving, and the mare's breast rising and falling with shallow, barely-perceptible breaths.
mare .. 5 years .. blue roan .. moriesian .. 16 hands
|