perfect, perfect always scared me
taught me to be wary
She had lost track of time. The days had blurred, and stretched out, like the rays of the sun that reached across the sea of grass, and filtered slowly through the thin, broken canopies of the small clusters of trees that Guadalupe liked to linger in. There was peace and tranquillity here. It was quiet, and it was safe.
It was taking her some time to get used to it.
She wasn’t unhappy, not at all, but she missed her boy, wondered about him often, wondered when she’d be able to settle down. If she would be able to. For years she believed that she wasn’t suited to being a mother, and yet here she was, heavy with her second foal. It hadn’t been so long since she’d first arrived, really. She couldn’t yet claim the Islands as her home. And yet… She never thought she’d have stayed this long, on these islands in the sea.
Somehow her pregnancy was harder on her this time, which she didn’t quite understand. Dances With Wolves had been the first foal she had carried since her youth, but this time… Her barrel was swollen and heavy, and the child inside her liked to keep her up at night. Because of this, she always tried to be within visual distance of at least a few of the mares, if not Valentine himself. That way, if anything went wrong…
Guadalupe was a quiet soul, or so it seemed. And though she liked to keep to herself more than any of the other mares might, she welcomed company when it sought her out. The handful of mares that she had met (even if only briefly) were pleasant enough at face value, and Guadalupe found herself wanting to get to know them, little, deep things that they didn’t show many. In order to do that, she knew she had to make more of an effort, and maybe someday soon she would. But not now, not today or tomorrow. Because she was tired, and she desperately needed rest.
For the first time in days, she was able to sleep deeply enough to dream. And she dreamed of a place, not so different from the Prairie. It was the valley where she’d been born, the valley she’d been named for. And there were horses there, ones she hadn’t thought of in years. She was young again, every bit as wild and free as she was now. Standing in the mountains above the valley, looking down on all she’d ever known, ready to leave it all behind, and gain the world. As the young mare in the dream turned, she lost her footing on the stony ground and stumbled ---
Guadalupe woke, a ragged gasp leaping from her mouth. Pain rippled through her belly, and she tried to calm herself, drawing in deep and even breaths. Slowly, she edged her way out of the small copse, so that she had space enough to lie down. Her labor was harder than it had been with Dances. It was long and it hurt, and then… A boy, she had another boy. A coat as red as the setting sun, splashed with white. He was beautiful, and she loved him so much. Eager to stand and nurse him, Lupe reached out and skimmed her muzzle over his damp skin. She needed to get up, but no, there was another sharp stab of pain, and fear flooded Guadalupe’s veins. Something was wrong – this hadn’t happened with Dances, nor the time she’d birthed in her youth. She cried out, panic straining her voice “V-Valentine! Anyone?! Please…”
The dream had stirred up faded memories that Guadalupe had thought were long buried. Her mother – a fierce and strong bay mare, she had died while trying to bring life into the world. Guadalupe had only been young, but now she looked at the memory with different eyes. Her mother had lost too much blood, she stopped breathing, and with her, a colt, as black as night. He had never even lived. Guadalupe's breaths were uneven now, catching in her throat, Guadalupe was determined that her son survive. Luckily, a couple of the mares who lived with Valentine had also been heavy with foal this year, and so, Guadalupe figured, at least her son had a chance.
However, before she could call out again, a fresh wave of pain coursed through her, and it was oddly familiar. Dropping her head to the grass, she murmured to the chestnut and white colt, hoping to comfort him, and finding comfort herself. “My little wolf, I’ll be okay. Just wait and see… Soon you’ll be standing on those strong little legs of yours. Just – just wait and see…” And then the pain was gone, and another life was moving in the grass. Two? How was it possible? In all her travels, Guadalupe had never come across such a thing. She was alive. And so were her two foals. Twins.
She took it as a sign.
This was where she was meant to be. And, just as she had promised her boy, she had him on his tiny hooves soon after, and was encouraging the second foal (a filly colored the same as her brother, albeit with more white than he – it was draped across her hindquarters like a tiny blanket of snow) to her trust her thin white legs when Guadalupe became aware of another’s presence. Immediately, she was alert and on guard. Ears tilting back, she flared her nostrils and snorted, suddenly keenly aware of all around her, and watchful for anything that might pose a risk to her two healthy foals.
Deep inside a spark turned into a fire, and the fierceness that had existed in her mother all those years ago existed in her again too. She remembered forging her way into the depths of the Lagoon, fearless and ferocious, searching for Dances when he’d disappeared. None had stopped her then, and nothing would stop her now. She had been blessed with two lives, and she would let nothing harm either one of them.
kept me on guard
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