Briar was dreaming again.

It was spring, a time for new life, new love, new beginnings, and with the return of the sun came a renewed sense of loneliness for the whitesplashed mare. Her womb was empty, as it had been for several years, but still she felt loss at the knowledge that she wouldn’t have her own constant companion, her guide through the darkness reaching its solemn fingers at the edges of her consciousness. She knew having children now was probably a bad idea to begin with – and indeed, had taken extra measures to avoid the roan stallion during breeding season – but she would have enjoyed the company. As much as she kept to herself, she longed for the touch of another, for a warm, kind soul that wouldn’t ever leave her side. She was unwilling to approach the small herd in the Inlet. Instead, she kept to her old hiding places, wedging herself into crevices and in cramped stands of scrubby trees and under rocky overhangs. There she found a peace, a comfort in the scratch of rock or branches against her skin, and there she slept, travelling back through the years to better, happier times.

As she dreamt she remembered her grown children, though they were all foals in her memories, small scampering colts and fillies glued to her side. Their births had been bittersweet, painful but heartwarming in that they brought with them such love and tenderness, more than enough to fill the gaps in her life that lacked it. Ivan, her golden boy, her first, forever asking questions; Natalya, a wisp on the wind; perfect princess Anna, dark and smoldering and lovely; and at last, sweet Azaleya, a whole new light in her life, different from the others yet special all the same. She sighed in her sleep, remembering the first few moments they’d shared together. She remembered her daughter’s first steps, her high whinny ringing out. It was so loud in her mind, it felt almost… real.

Too real, even.

Briar jolted awake with a start, ears swiveling to catch the noises around her. Leya’s whinnies hadn’t been merely in dreamland; somewhere, somewhere near, a foal was mewling for its dam’s attention. Briar lay still, supposing the child would stop in a few moments and she could return to her slumber in peace; but after a few minutes it was still crying out, and she, unable to resist its call, stood up and shook the snow from her coat.

Carefully, the chocolate mare weaved her way out of the secluded grove of underbrush she’d hidden in, coming face-to-face with the entrance of some sort of den. The dirt on the ground was mussed, soaked with blood and sweat, and as her eyes drifted up she found the form of a mare in the semidarkness, her body leaning heavily on the den wall. At her hooves lay a white-speckled filly, obviously sated, obviously fast asleep.

Briar gazed at her for a moment, her heart swelling with longing and love, before shifting to the other mare once more. She recognized her as the palomino from long ago, though any quarrel she’d had with her was long forgotten. Her bright blue eyes softened as she noticed the way the mare seemed to depend on the support of the wall. Briar wanted to help, knowing how difficult a birth can sometimes be and knowing the mare was probably exhausted, but she was wary of her strong demeanor, and she felt embarrassed for the way she’d acted at their previous (and only) meeting. She didn’t whinny so as to not disturb the foal, sure the mare had noticed her, and simply whuffed her breath out in a soft sigh, shyly making eye contact.

“Are you –“ her voice was rough with unused, and she coughed, clearing her throat before continuing. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question – she obviously was not alright, given her dependence on the wall and the large amount of blood on the ground – but she couldn’t just waltz in and offer her services. Who said the palomino would even want her assistance after their last encounter?

Honestly, Briar wouldn’t blame her if she chased her out.