Rhaego lacked the sensitivity that went with situations like these - he was a stallion, plain and simple. There really was no other way to truly explain him. What little time he'd spent around the female gender growing up had been in the first year of his life, which had been when he had been acting out, intentionally doing everything to be a menace to his adoptive mother. He hadn't the patience or the desire then to learn his manners, how to be sensitive to mares and others around him, none other than himself. What little sensitivities he did have, he had picked up from his time with the bachelor band, through their bragging stories and occasionally his attempts at wooing the random lone mare. The rest was purely instinct, rough and unrefined.

This situation was no different and left him puzzled and uncertain - the swirling doubts of himself and his foals making him edgy and self-conscious. Was it something in his bloodline that caused her this unforseen difficulty? Perhaps Psychotic's bloodline? Rhaego had sent a questing look over the painted mare once more, his gaze critical and evaluating. It didn't seem likely - for he thought the Vanner mare to, his gaze critical and evaluating. It didn't seem likely - for he thought the Vanner mare to be as fit and healthy as any of the other mares here. But then what was it?

Rhaego disliked mysteries and not knowing the answer and Psychotic's uncertain and frightened voice did not make matters any better. Her heart was fluttering? Hearts were important. He could feel his own beating strongly, as deep and steadfast as his hooves when they galloped across the land. But to imagine something other than that was so difficult. Shifting uneasily, he turns his attention to the little filly - dark eyes confused and almost wary.

"I - I don't know." Truly he was at a loss. How could his foal not be as healthy as he or Psychotic? The large stallion sidled a little closer to the ivory-painted mare and their struggling filly, conflicted and feeling so dreadfully out of his element. Would the little filly make it? Would it be better to just accept that she wouldn't and just move on? There seemed to be so little chance working in the little one's favor and Rhaego was logical, to a fault. A large part of him - the part that had grown and developed alongside his ego, looking down upon those he considered weak, lesser - that part wanted to walk away from the scene and to distance himself from this foal of his own blood which could not even stand. Though there was a smaller portion of him, which surprised him with it's intensity, that wanted desperately for the little bay filly to stand... to prove that she was not weak.

For several long moments, Rhaego stands watch. He does not interfere with Psychotic's attempts to help the filly to her feet but neither does he help. That is not until she struggles against her mother's leg - sitting up at least partially and seeming to be making a little progress. The Swedish draft circled around to Orihime's other side. stopping to stand as near as Psychotic was on her other side - offering his own legs for support. He dipped his muzzle, touching the filly for the first time and breathing in her scent - the perfect combination of his and Psychotic's own. Whuffing it out abruptly and then raising his head back up, the stallion stood there as if a sentinel over the little filly - watching intently. Hoping.