The forest was nearly silent asides from the steady drone of various insects and birds, hidden in the high canopies and the endless undergrowth beneath them. However the quiet cacophony could not have been more silent than in the radius that surrounded the mealy stallion as he traipsed noisily through the brush.... how he expected to hear anything over the rustling and snapping was a mystery; but somehow he did. Because the stallion for certain heard the pained cries, or rather screams of a mare came from an lengthy distance away somewhere still in a portion of the forest he had yet to search.

Tension and adrenaline surged through the brute's husky frame as he pulled sharply to a halt amongst some thorny brambles; the energy riled within him, angry and rampant, seeking release in some physical form if he'd allow it. However the deep huffing breaths, the questing eyes and ears were the only movements from him as he held statue-still, poised at attention. Something was wrong... and for an instant (only an instant), Rhaego was not sure which direction the voice came from, since the leafy canopies contained and carried the shrill notes into and from all directions of the forest. But the cries fueled an urgency within the brute, a viscious need to defend and stand for what was rightfully his.

A mere few seconds passed just before the Swedish Draught stallion plunges forward, ears half back against his skull - angry but listening intently for more cries of distress. His first thoughts were that the wolves had finally crossed that dreaded line and attacked one of his own or an outsider stallion had somehow made it past him and was targeting an unguarded mare - both were problems easily met and solved with brawn and wit. But as Rhaego plowed through the trees and bushes, intent on bloodshed, he hardly expected what he would find.

He'd gotten close - in Aileen's general vicinity when he heard her panicking voice. He was not so close to hear precisely what she'd said, but near enough to hear the distress in her tone. Charging forward with a snort, Rhaego rushes with newfound direction and sureness - confident that he could overcome whatever danger threatened his home and mare. However when the stocky stallion breaks through the cover and into sight of the new mother-daughter pair, he is confused. Angry, but confused.

He skids, turned at an angle to slow his momentum, large hooves cutting sharply into the soft earthen floor and sending a few clods unceremoniously into the air. Rhaego snorts, tossing his ivory-frosted muzzle haughtily into the air, nostrils flaring and his sides heaving from his exertion and the turmoil of emotions rioting with him in that moment. His eyes are dark and stormy, narrowed upon the wet bundle of sooty black at Aileen's hooves. Where the hell did this come from?! The first and foremost thought in the brute's single-track mind is that this is NOT his foal, so who the hell's was it?! His teeth clench and grind without conscious effort as he shoots smoldering dark eyes to the mare, preparing to say something in anger. But he wavers, however briefly and clamps his jaws shut before anything hurtful can escape his lips.

The sight of the exhausted and desperate mother was not an issue he expected to deal with, especially from Aileen, but really not at all. Rhaego preferred to avoid those activities that were best suited to the fairer sex and stick to the masculine roles that came so easily to him. Situations like this usually required a gentler touch and emotions that he often recoiled from. His attention shifted to the newborn, nostrils flaring again in her general direction, testing the air for her unfamiliar scent - then he turned back to the mare. "No tears." He grated, still terribly undecided on how to react, but ultimately deciding that he did not like a sobbing and unhappy Aileen. The words were likely to be perceived as harsh given the situation, but in Rhaego's own viewpoint Aileen was stronger than this... this moment of weakness.

Huffing again, the bay dun stallion eyes Calandra dubiously. Though physically at least he had lost that urgent drive to defend and attack, Rhaego remained tense and alert. "She must stand or die." He finally says in a blunt voice, absent of the frustration and the anger he'd displayed. His decision had been made, for now at least. Aileen was his priority. Stepping up to the filly, Rhaego lowered his muzzle to her hindquarters - unwilling but decided on his course of action. He nudged her almost roughly (unfamiliar with how little pressure was needed) and intends to rock the newborn forward just enough to hopefully get her rear legs under her in a half standing position...