Fear gripped the pony mare as she lay prone on the moonlit beach of Paradise, giving space to the whites of her eyes. Hours had long since passed since she had snuck away from Pidgeon in the wee hours of the morning, and yet she'd made no further progress in expelling the child she'd lovingly carried for so many months. She could feel her strength waning as her body struggled to push the new life from her form; sand clung to her coat in the places dampened with the evidence of her effort, and her breath came in short, hot gasps.

Even her customary snark was absent from her thoughts as the effort it took to think in the face of the pain and struggle was overwhelming. She couldn't focus on anything until the thought of her son rose into mind. Where she'd avoided thoughts of him in the past, she clung to them now, grateful for the sharp clarity they provided to her mind as it grew otherwise fuzzy. Through panting grasps, the pinto mare began to murmur, using the thought of her son as a focus point.

"C'mon now, wee bugger. Someday ye'll meet yer brother, but today is no the day." She panted, eyes closed and sides heaving in between a set of contractions. "He was braw, Hamish was. Had a strong heart. An' you do too, I know it. Yer mine, little love."

"It wasnae his fault, y'ken. The sickness. All o' Dougal's kids were like that in some way, but we'd hoped 'e would be different." She loses her train of thought as she pushes before latching back on gratefully when it passes. "He had a heart ten times bigger'n 'e was."

Her words gradually grow less coherent, devolving into murmured assurances that the foal was loved, and strong, and so wanted, as labor continues until at last, the filly slides from her. Dawn peeks at the edges of the horizon, quickly painting the sky in pinks and golds as Grier acquaints herself with the tiny filly at her heels. Many tears are shed as the girl rises to her trembling hooves and nurses for the first time, and Grier cradles her, her heart swelling with the love she feels for her daughter. She could not have asked for a more perfect child, or be more thankful for the health of her tiny figure and the strength of her tiny personality.

Time passes as the newborn adjusts to life on land, and Grier keeps proud guard over her. She takes time while the filly sleeps to cover the evidence of her birth, but does not yet rest herself. She knows that she should, that her body craves the peace of slumber, but she cannot bear to leave her daughter exposed to dangers while she naps. But nor can she bring herself to go farther into the jungle. Selfishly, she wants to hoard as many of these first precious moments of Isla's life to herself as possible. Isla is hers and she refuses to give any quarter to Liland in her mind.

Tenderly the pinto mare nuzzles the sleeping form of her daughter, tracing the dun line down her back. Isla shakes her head against the sand and bleats in protest, her fuzzy ears tipping back. "Mom!"

It is the only word the girl has grasped so far, but she is already an expert at infusing it with the appropriate level of sass. "It is time to get up, mo chridhe. We should go meet yer auntie."

A sound ahead focuses Grier's attention and she steps forward protectively, even as the gangly pony girl fumbles upright from her bed of sand. She presses close to her dam, blue eyes wide with curiousity.