The sun was shining bright on this clear spring day. Larka had awoken early this morning, unable to find a comfortable night sleep so late in her pregnancy. This was not the first time for her. Larka knew this. There would not be much rest until after this foal was free of her body. Nervousness overwhelms her, causing the pale silver white mare to move through the thick waist deep grasses at a slow ambling pace. Her belly swung back and forth heavily, laden with the precious burden. The sun is warm against her skin and were she not so heavily pregnant, she might have enjoyed it. But she could not get comfortable.
And then the pain begins.
At first it begins in her belly, sizing her swollen sides and causing her steps to falter. She breathes evenly, doing her best to focus her thoughts as with each passing moment the reality of birth began to flare its face once more.
Labor pains coursed through every fiber and vein in her body. Sweat glistened on her coat of pale silver-white. Icy blue eyes close now as paper thin nostrils flare, inhaling a deep breathe as yet another wave of pain washes over her. Time was short.
Cautiously she moves, legs stiff against the tremors of labor. When first coming to the prairie with Shamwari, Larka had spied a great lovely weeping willow tree that later inspection found held deep soft green grasses behind the protective screen of its dangling branches. Nearby, a stream broke free from the river border, it trickled over pebbles and rocks, the gurgling sound soothing to even the most anxious of creatures. In that moment, Larka dubbed this the place she would birth her children. And she was careful to not stray too far from it since incase the moment came. Lucky for her she did.
Ducking beneath the guarding branches Larka lets herself settle into soft grasses, pressing her back against the smooth bark of the great tree's trunk. Ivory teeth grit behind closed lips as she fights back a groan and begins to push, closing her mind off to everything except the sound of the babbling brook and the soft sprays of water that tickled her whiskers and cooled her face.
Minutes pass that feel like hours for the small black mare. Exhaustion envelops her and despite her desire to sleep she forces herself finally to rise and gaze at the foal near her feet.
She is beautiful, pale cream in color. No markings break the pale of her sandy colored skin, none save for a single white snip on the tip of her tiny muzzle. She is perfect. A soft smile ghosts across her ash dusted lips as gingerly she stands, affectionately pressing her muzzle against the soft damp fuss of the daughter who lay curled at her feet. "Ayiana... my beautiful little Ayiana." The words fall past her lips on whispered breath, a silent prayer of thanks to the gods above for the beautiful blessing that was the small pale filly at her feet.
Her own tiny sides heave as the little filly looks up at her mother, her icy blue eyes blinking away the blur that disrupted this moment. She lifts her tiny head as mother's hot breath sends a pleasurable chill along her flank. Ears flopping against the dampness that clings to her body. Reassurance overcomes her now, a security that washes over her like the comfort of mother's scent. Through the dappled sunlight that filtered in through the branches above, the small filly begins to grasp an understanding of the wild new world before her.
Mother rises, and the tiny filly feels the sudden urgency to do the same. Her heart beats quickly in her small breast as with a few jerking and awkward steps she manages to rise. Small damp tail flicks back and forth nervously as she leans forward, taking a single hoping step to put herself against mother's warm side. Pangs of hunger grip her as she sweet intoxicating aroma of milk wafts to her nostrils. With much less coaxing, Ayiana stretches her muzzle beneath Larka's pale silver white flank and drinks greedily.