Why is every damn day so feckin hot? She grumbled to herself as she padded from the humid embrace of the jungle to the open stretch of the beach; a mistrusting glare was sent toward the deceptive waves, as she had even less of a liking for the danger they represented. Sweat dampened the whorls of her winter coat that had yet to acclimate to the heat of the jungle and she flet wrung out, like someone had sucked every ounce of energy right out of her pores.

"If'n it weren't you wee one, I'd be hatin' every inch o' this land." She murmurs her words toward the child growing like a weed in her womb. She could feel them now, on occasion, moving beneath the tender expanse of her swollen belly and it warmed her heart anew. This pregnancy had already been wrought with far more drama than her first, and she was fiercely protective of the child already. Selfishly, she hoped it was a baby girl, if only because she knew it would be easier to raise a girl than it would be a colt in a strange land.

A boy'd jus' want 'is sire and heaven knows there's plenty o' drama without awl of that. The stout overo mare winds her way down to the beach, making haste for a very particular spot she'd manage to scout very early in her residency here. One small tree extended past the traditional jungle to provide a smidgen of shade just where the ocean met the sand and she relished the shade on her back as the ocean breeze lifted the sweat dampened strands of her mane from her neck.

Absently she wondered where her spotted friend was, but did not call out for Pidgeon. They spent most of their time together, even here, and she wouldn't begrudge the young mare some alone time if she desired it. Blissfully the girl turns her face toward the ocean and closes her eyes to enjoy the serenity that had become a rare commodity as of late.