Poor lad, Grier thought with a frown as the fierce battle concluded, her eyes resting on the grullo stallion. 'e did 'is best an I know 'e's not likely ta be feeling much good.

Her eyes flicked to the treeline where Rougaru had departed, mild surprise widening her gaze. If he had come to challenge for the small herd of the Bay, and had won, why hadn't he gathered up the mares? Mebbe e's not keeping us. Mebbe t'was all jus fer show n'all. Just as well anyway, she sniffed, I don't relish the thought o' a winter swim even if there was no wean in my belly. The stout little mare flicks the golden strands of her tail across her widening figure before she finally steps toward her claimer as he approaches.

They were not close, really. Grier still wasn't entirely sure she was much more than a body to him, albeit one that harbored one of his precious children, but she was still closer to him than she was to Rougaru. Beside the stallion stood another colt, one not fully out of the awkward stages of adolescence yet. She wasn't entirely sure who he was, but then again, it may not matter for much longer.

The painted mare extends her muzzle toward the grullo, her face somber. "Ye did what ye could lad, 'n there's nowt much more ye can do."

Her gaze flits over to the rest of the herd, none of whom seemed thrilled by the reality of what was happening. Grier wasn't terribly upset, considering the only creature she'd formed any kind of close bond with was Pidgeon, but she wasn't happy either. Liland may not be someone she found herself seeking out the company of often, but he had done alright by her so far.

"I promise ye, the wean'll still know who it's da is." She assured him with a nod. Grier in all honesty was about as likely to willingly swim anywhere again as a dog was to spontaneously do a handstand. Possible, yes, but not likely. So while she had every intention of telling her wee one who Liland was, the likelihood of her swimming anywhere, let along back to the Bay, was unlikely.