The Mustang had noticed her tawny figure growing large and round, herself needing more frequent breaks and nutrients, and she had been very busy with looking after her own needs and those of the forest as of late, so she had scattered herself to try to take care of everything at once, spreading herself incredibly thin to the point where, some nights, she would have collapsed had her roots not come into play and kept her stood upright. Today, she was gauging the forest's health; there had recently been a slight drought, so she had been bringing water up from just at the edge of the territory to the vast woodlands. She was taking care of a sapling when pain gripped her large barrel and she cried out with pain, not knowing what this was and the whole thing being so new to her. However, the pain dissapears as quickly as it began, so the sprite continues to tend to her kin, walking through the forest, unaware of her king (she had done her best to please his every wish and obey his every command) searching for her. As she was putting one of her timber-colored hooves forward, another pain rockets through her through her, another scream pierces the air, disrupting the relative peace of the summer day.

She then collapses, nymph elegance evident even as she falls to the dirt, still crying out in pain as the fire in her belly has the recoils all over her body. The mare continued attempting to get up, each time unsuccessful as logical thinking was thrown out the window, replaced by the reverberations of pain in her mind, now thrashing about, alabaster-splotched rump and emerald leafy tail becoming dirtied in the dust and dirt of the season. Suddenly the screams stopped, replaced by silence for instants before another pain racks the mare's body. She breathes, trying to focus on something else rather than the immense pain emanating from her swollen stomach, something, anything, and eventually sticks to her shallow breaths. The mocha femme starts holding what little breath was inhaled, focusing on trying to ward the now-frequent pains off by making her body numb from lack of oxygen. She cannot stick to this plan long before instinct takes the Dryad and makes her inhale deep into her flared nostrils, pushing the weight on her body out, and this process is repeated even as her vision grows blurry with tears, the once distinguished treeline now merely blurs of greens and browns in her umber pools, hot, salty tears running down her face. At first the pushes were small, but eventually they grew larger and larger until the mare could not wait for this whole ordeal to be over, even if it meant death. She was drained of all energy, but her instincts told her that just a little more and she would be finished, so Aileen gave all her effort out in one final push.

Timber audits turn to hear something wet land on the ground behind her, and as she turns her head, too tired to get up for the moment, she sees a little equine, the color of the shadowy trunks around them, her tail just a little thing, laced with leaves, her mane tiny and tuffed with tiny peaks of cocoa. She whickers to the little wet ball of fluff behind her, and the little girl opens her eyes, the color of the sky hidden by the boughs above them, and, she feels a strange, strong connection to the little filly. "Hey there..." the mare thinks for a moment on what to call the little thing, and as she looks into her azure orbs and her little darkling form, she thinks of the Calandra Lark that nested in her branches once."Calandra. Yes, Calandra is your name. A sweet smile curves over her ashen features as she instinctively stands, allowing the little princess to get up and nurse, but she seems distant, weak, despite her slightly stocky build, familiar... That stallion from the Meadow! she suddenly realizes that he had sired this child, Calandra, and when auburn orbs turn to look back on her new daughter, she sees that she is growing weaker, she wouldn't get up. "Calandra! Get up..." Even though the little dove was the result of things against Aileen's will, the forest sprite found that she cared very much for this little bundle that she had worked so hard to deliver, but the little girl refuses to get up. Her ears catch the sound of nearby movement in the bushes, someone approaching, though she cannot tell who as they were too far away to get their scent, but she did not know how to help her foal. "Please.... I beg of you..." she huffs, exhausted, sore, and still breathless from the process of the birth. "Please... help me... help her..." Tears begin flowing down her face at the prospect of loosing this life that had just come into this world."Please..."

|Spanish Mustang|Smokey Cream Blanket Appaloosa|Dryad|Unalinged|30 (looks 6)

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