Nymeria had had enough children to recognize even the earliest warning signs of an impending labor. And each time, like clockwork, it was more or less the same. Exactly three days before the child began to put serious pressure on her pelvis, she would feel a deep ache, almost the same ache she felt just before coming into estrous. And when she felt that ache, she knew it was time to eat like she had never eaten to build up her strength for the impending birth.

Being so familiar with her own bodily rhythms was useful, for it meant she was able to plan around them accordingly. With regards to birthing, it gave her a head start particularly in finding a suitable place of privacy. Days ago she had seen the black and white mare near her age go down in the tall grass to birth like she’d had her legs knocked out from beneath her; it had made Nymeria shake her head in disdain, seeing how unprepared the other mare was. Thankfully there seemed to be few, if any, predators here in the prairie to take advantage of the paint mare’s carelessness, else she might have witnessed something worse still. She hoped the other mares would have better sense – she could not take any of them seriously as competitors for lead mare if they could not even birth a child in a dignified manner.

There was little shelter to be had in the prairie, but for one place – a little grove of tall evergreens clustered together around the bend of a creek that snaked across the landscape – the same place in which she had tucked herself away when she’d first come here. And it was here she returned to drop to the earth in privacy and bring new life into the world.

Nymeria did not believe in the idea that labor was easier the more children one had; over the years she’d found the pain and exhaustion to be more or less the same each time. It was only her experience that gave the illusion of easier births – knowing what to expect made it a little easier to focus on the end result instead of the messy details.

The birth itself was unremarkable, as standard as any of her previous births, and the resulting colt was as black as most of her previous children had been. She cleaned him, as she must, despite the acrid taste of the afterbirth, and after she had rested for a few hours finally decided to bring him out into the open. The herd was still scattered, despite their recent brief meeting, and Nymeria would not yet trouble herself to approach any of them. Let them come to her, if they so wished.

And so she stood and ate the new spring grass while her dark son ducked under her round belly to nurse.