Therese had done nothing but hide during her pregnancy – she had snuck away from the watchful gaze of Asha as soon as she could, hidden amongst the tree’s until the weather grew warm and her belly so swollen she thought she would burst. It was mid-afternoon by the time Therese gave birth. She had not spent much time amongst Vercingetorix’s mare’s and therefore had little need to move from her spot, no one would find her here – they had not managed it in all of winter, they would not manage it now.

Seconds, minutes, hours. Therese isn’t aware of the time that passes, she only knows pain – unstoppable pain that makes her wonder why Tiamat had been so eager to go through this process again and again and again. But when it is over and done with she understands – she realises.

There is nothing better than bringing life.

---

The first thing he knows is cold, and water in his ears, his eyes, his mouth – it is strong and salty and he hates it. Mother had told him it was safe, she had convinced him with her soft coo’s and gentle encouragement, and now all he can feel is the pressure of her nose on his back – helping him, hindering him. He does not have the sense to realise that she is holding him down beneath the waves.

Something changes in a few seconds, one moment he is under the surface, and the next he is above it, gasping in air and water, coughing and spluttering as his hooves find their balance on the uneven sand beneath him. Then mother is pushing him towards the bank, fawning over him like some silly creature, and Sverre feels warmth in his legs again.

He isn’t even aware how close he had been to death. That Therese had wanted nothing more than to end him and all he represented.

---

By the time the early morning sun rises they are back in the forest, surrounded by the familiar trees, scents and sounds. But Therese does not wander in circles like she usually does, she does not avoid the welcoming noises of the herd – she does something she has not considered since she arrived here. She moves towards their vast bulk, her eyes searching their faces curiously.

She doesn’t know any of them, they are all strangers, and so she does not search through them eagerly, looking for familiar faces. Her gaze is cautious, timid, scared, and subconsciously she moves to stand in front of him, in front of her little Sverre. He is not Vercingetorix’s child, and she cannot stop herself from imagining the horrors that might befall him if Torix is not so understanding as he had once been. She would not blame him – she has been a poor excuse of a mare, and a poorer excuse of a friend.

Sverre stands oblivious beside her, lowering his head so he can gaze under his mother’s belly towards the throng of creature’s in front of the, eyes wide with curiosity, mouth agape with eagerness.