Her heartfelt concern reads clear in Zjeena's face. She bleeds sympathy for these two lost foals. They are far too young to be alone. Where are their parents? How did they end up here? These are all questions lost to the urgency of the moment, for Zjeena feels the urgent need to shelter and protect them.
It takes a tremendous effort for the filly to rouse and roll into an upright position. She's so weak. She's so cold. Driven by instinct, the mare reaches out once more, to rake her warm tongue against the filly's ocean-wet coat. A clean, dry coat, and warm muscles are a good start to any revival.
The colt's small body presses against her own, and the contact feels as natural as if he were her own. Zjeena stands a solid support, her broad hooves steady on the sand. When his small voice pleads with her to let the filly have a drink, the answer is quick to reach Zjeena's mouth. "Of course. Both of you. Drink." She urges.
All three of them have come from a dark place, but now that they have found each other, the future looks like the dawn. With these two to care for Zjeena should find renewed purpose, and move forward from an era of mourning. Everything happens for a reason, and in losing her own sons, she has found something more.