Zjeena never thought that when one colt was born without a tail, that there might be more wrong with them. A mother's eyes see only what makes her children beautiful. Their flaws are invisible through the haze of a mother's love, but as they failed to thrive, it became apparent that there was more to be concerned about, lurking just out of sight. The toxic way in which they were conceived seeped into their tiny bodies. The strain of a mother stressed stood in the way of healthy development in the womb, and within a week of their birth, her beloved little boys were gone.
Zjeena expected to lose them to Liland eventually, but she never expected to lose them in this way. The abrupt nature of their passing seemed to have an effect on Liland as well. The ever-persistent stallion hasn't been seen since the news was carried across the sea to Tinuvel.
The young mare hasn't sought the support of herd-mates, choosing to grieve alone. The sight of their newborns, healthy and alive, tear her apart. There is no pain greater than losing a child and Zjeena has lost two at once.
She travels the beach tonight, both doing her duty to patrol, and avoiding the sound of happy children in the depths of the jungle. Her patrols are usually uneventful, with few bold enough to challenge a stallion with a reputation like Rougaru's. She presses on, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her heavy heart. Her udders are full and causing her pain as she walks. She went from two nursing colts to none at all. The sudden change leaves her body yet unaware, and still producing milk for two.
Long shadows cast by the treeline stretch across the beach. The moon hangs low on the other side of the island, leaving this shore in near-darkness, lit only by a hazy smattering of stars.
The foals are small, easily lost among the pattern of dark and low light stretching across the sand, but a tiny voice calling for help is difficult to miss. The colt's urgent calls cut through the still, night air, pushing her sadness aside, and quickening the pulse within her veins. Zjeena's ears turn to the sound and she springs into a ground-covering trot.
Around the nearest bend, the shape of a colt takes shape in the darkness. He worries over the prone form of a filly. Zjeena slows her pace as she comes near, not wanting to startle the panicked young foal. Her nostrils flare, and her ears prick curiously forward. The lines of her face crease with concern. Her worry reflects with the starlight in her eyes.
"Shhhh" the mare murmurs into the night. "What happened?", she asks the colt. At the same time, she reaches with the softness of her muzzle and the warmth of her breath, towards the filly. Has she drowned? The shallow rise and fall of her chest answers that question. Perhaps she is just exhausted from a journey made too far, too young. The distressed cries of a foal move her in ways her consciousness cannot. Zjeena's full udders drip fresh milk onto the sand, begging to be emptied.