Everything in her slender figure blazed with pain, but she hardly cared. All of her focus was devoted to the darkly shaded colt that wobbled at her side, shakily searching for his first meal. She winced as he latched on, her ears pinning and elegant neck raising at the strange feeling but she resists the urge to shove him away from her form. The movement tugs something deep within the roan mare and she hisses at the sudden rush of pain, momentarily afraid that the process of birth was to start over again.

It recedes into the cacophony of other, smaller, pains as she stands however, and her attention returns to the large child at her side with a brush of her muzzle across his haunches. This maternal pride felt alien to her, as uncommon as humility, and she wasn't quite sure what to do with the affection she felt for the creature she had previously referred to as a parasite for it's entire existence. She had even considered abandoning it as soon as it was born, sacrificing it to the predators of Paradise. A part of her still resented him for the months she had lost as an immobile blimp, but she couldn't deny that every part of her would fight fiercely for him now.

No one would take him from her.

Nearby the ferns part and her head lunges toward the sound with earns pinned and mouth agape. She sidesteps her wobbly child to step toward the potential danger but grimaces with the pain of the movement. A muscle, torn deep inside, leaves her severely lame and the affected hind leg hoists up in immediate rejection of the movement. A hiss, born both of displeasure and pain, slips from her lips as she stops and glares at the moving foilage, minor panic widening her dark eyess. How would she protect her son if she could not move?

It is only when she recognizes the silver figure of her claimor that the edge of the panic softens and her natural haughty expression returns. It occurs to her, as she dismissively turns her head from Rougaru to guide her son back to her side, that she should perhaps worry that the stallion would harm her son. The herd stallion had every right to take offense to the spawn of another male in his herd, but Vanya does not think Rougaru is the type. His words on the beach from her arrival still linger in her mind when she thinks of him, and while she is certain that his seed had not displaced the gray stallion's, she imagines he would have reacted differently if he was opposed to raising the spawn of another stallion.

Once he is settled once more, his wobbly figure leant against her own for support, she turns back to her King. Haughtily she addresses him, offering no explanation or comment on her earlier pain. "Easy Rou, your jealousy is showing."

A smirk teases at her lips but it wavers there, not as certain as it had been before. All of this was new to her, and she felt very out of place. As his second comment registers, a bark of proud laughter escapes her and her eyes glitter freely. "Of course he does. He is mine. What, did you think he would look like you? I'm sure you have other spawn running around."

It is a jest, of course. Regardless of what he wanted or their belated coupling on the beach, this foal would not share his blood. And with his sire all but absent, the small colt's only ties to these islands belonged entirely to her. It was fitting that he would resemble her and not it's sire, and she reveled in it. After a moment she looks back to the colt, pride once more coloring her gaze. "Drogon."

The foal, still dazed from the entire process does not yet understand the words it hears overhead. He takes comfort in the warm shape of his mother, and belly now full, seeks to press himself against her with a shuffle of his hinds that nearly topples him. Only the strong pillars of her legs stop him from falling back to the hard earth below. As she makes more sounds in his direction he looks to her face and stretches his tiny charcoal muzzle toward her own. Drogon does not yet know much of the world, but this is his mother, and she is his to love.

His wobbly stance has steadied slightly as his body grows more used to propping upright, but movement still presents a challenge. It does not intimidate the colt from taking a shaky few steps foward toward the other vaguely horse sized shape before him so that he can more closely stare at it, tiny muzzle proffered. Protectively, his dam stays still, her neck drawn into a tight bow and eyes flashing with the promise of retribution should Rougaru try anything untoward.