Dawn found her higher on the Ridge than normal, where the jungle's growth thinned enough to allow the morning sun to warm her crimson coat. She had left without a word in the night as she had done often as of late, under the pretense of clearing her head and grounding herself. In truth, these midnight forays were the only times she allowed herself to cry. She knew that Ailill would think no less of her for the salty trails down her cheeks; he was a good man. Better than she deserved by half. The thought of letting him down, or allowing him to worry - even for a second - that she was not delighted to be back by his side caused her physical pain.

She loved him, and their family. This was their home - amidst the jungle canopy and bright flowers. But she could not shake this sense of otherness that plagued her. She was the reason Ailill wore new scars. The reason why Akadi was more volatile than ever, and why Roisin had learned to hide her thoughts behind a sullen, apathetic mask. She was the reason that her twins had spent more of their lives away from her than with her, and the reason they turned to each other for comfort, instead of to their parents. Furthermore, she knew that the feud between herself and Nyimara had continued to plague Faolain too, and that the lasting effects of her capture and bondage had touched something deeper in the herd. Aranck and Nyimara had bruised a part of her soul that did not feel as though it would ever recover.

These strolls were her relief. Her chance to release the build-up of that day's stress and reorient herself to the type of mare that she wanted to be. Or, at the very least, the type of mare she wanted her daughters to grow up to be.

Today, however, her path had carried her farther up and farther away as her labor began. Given that she had already given birth three times, her body had a fair idea of what was coming and warned her far enough in advance that she could seek this seclusion. She had spoken to Ailill of this child. Of their conception and of the dangers that they would continue to face. Of Nyimara's desperate covetous desire to take them away, even before they'd been born.

And of her hope. Desperately she hoped that the two of them would be able to look beyond all of this. She held no allegiance to any god, and yet she found herself pleading to the great beyond that stretched across the heavens that she would have the strength to give this baby a chance. After all, they had not asked for this life, or for the father that had sired them. They still had a chance to be brought up in love, by parents that would protect them and raise them to be something better than the monster that led the Arch.

Her body, as if sensing her inner reservations, did not proceed smoothly through the process. Each time that she thought she was getting close, something would shift and instinct would send her back to her feet to pace once more. By the time she lowered herself to the ground the final time, her coat was deep mahogany in color where sweat had drenched it and the ground beneath her body had been scraped clear of any vestige of plant life. Even then, each centimeter was hard won and she had resorted to murmuring words of encouragement to herself and the child to make it through this. That together, they would make it through this. That this would not be how their story ended.

When they finally slid free of one another, reality was slow to sink back in. She felt as though they'd been encapsulated in their own small bubble of time, separated from the outside world. She couldn't say how long she had lain there, fighting to bring her child into this world, but she knew the instant he was here.

Craning her head around, she shuffled at the small wet bundle and nosed at the sack that covered him until it was loosened. Shock swilled in her system as she looked upon the face of her first son and realized that it didn't matter who had sired him. He was hers. He belonged to her, and she was so incredibly glad that he was here. A vicious voice in her head attempts to interject that it of course she would deliver a colt to a stallion who would never see him become heir, but she shoves the thought away. Now was not the time for her doubts. Now was a time to celebrate his arrival. Joyous tears replaced the ones borne of fear and pain and she nickered softly to him again before gently disentangling herself so that she could stand.

Gently she set to the task of cleaning him and found herself marveling at his existence. At the absurdly long milk whiskers on his muzzle and the delicate fluff of his inner ear. Of the long eyelashes that would be the envy of his sisters and of the white that stretched across his body. He was perfect, and he was hers. "Come on little lad," she cooed to him, ruffling the wispies of his mane. "Up you go."

Only then, as she steps back to observe his progress, does she take note of her own condition. Given that each of her pregnancies had come with their own trials, she is not altogether surprised to find that she feels worse off now than she had mid-labor but she shoves the thought aside. Once her son had nursed and taken his first steps, she could rest her woozy head. Until then, she needed to be alert enough to protect and guide him, and then to call for her beloved to watch over them so that she could rest.

"That's it Zvaid," she murmurs warmly, stretching out to nuzzle him gently. With the soft milky scent of him filling her nostrils she smiles again and closes her eyes. "I'm so glad you're finally here."