Tithe’s nose poked from around his mother’s, breathing towards Nephiliam. It remained flared, and his eyes wide as he took in the older stallion’s scent. Still new to the world, he was confused about who he was. Amaranthe said he was a friend, he could be trusted, and she was calm around the stallion. Nothing was hurting, nothing was threatening. The boy calmed down, but still unsteady around the other male.

If the colt was confused by the situation, it was nearly nothing compared to Amaranthe. She had been preparing to fight for the life of her colt, just as fiercely as she had to fight herself. His humor took her back even more. The formality was starting to drop, and she was intensely aware of Tithe watching their interaction with keen interest. The mare relaxed, allowing a smile to come onto her lips with her mind tried to pick through everything that was happening to her in her life. She had a son born of rape, who she had already grown to love, though she did not know how to show. Her status had fallen to standing beside a stallion who was barely more than a colt, but in many ways already showing himself to be a better man than kings she had followed. The promise of revenge on Fallo was still hot on her lips, but all she could think about was how proud she was of her son who stood so solidly by her side. And the stallion, who was still a colt, laughed and accepted her easy definition of ‘friend’.

She took a breath and sighed, allowing herself to relax and try to be comfortable with these changes. The relaxation even went as far to lift her nose and let Tithe step closer to Nephiliam. No longer restrained, the colt moved over and stood next to him. He arched his own neck, and held his head high, already determined to one day be just as imposing as Nephiliam seemed to be to him.

Amaranthe smiled in a moment of fondness for the boy, both of them. “You would be a pretty poor friend.” Absent minded, and uncharacteristic, she reached out her own nose to Nephiliam, feeling oddly touched. Again, she blamed the hormones of childbirth. Her eyes went back to her son, who had started circling around the pair of them. “You asked me for tips on how to fight the other day. I want him to be strong. Will you practice with him?” A small part of her was sickened by what she was asking, it was skirting around the concept of ‘training’. The harassment they had all faced and the cool shoulders of their parents after the skirmishes. At least in this, she could be determined to be there for him.

AMARANTHE

MARE :: FRIESIAN :: 15.3hh :: BLACK