Her ears flatten, freed from her bridle since summer and then her saddle since mid-winter when she grew too large and Maslakhat had found the girth on the heavy saddle to be worn enough to snap the leather at a weakened seam. It had been an interesting obstacle for him to cover her, but he had done it. He had done it and her womb had quickened, a thing she had thought to never do - only this was her choice. A chosen sire at her own chosen time.

She was still racing the deserts, even as heavy as she grew with this child within her. She had never missed a beat, though it had taken Sidika and Maslakhat and even watching some of the Arabian interlopers to find adequate grazing that could sustain the pregnancy and keep her from feeling starved. Her mane was growing out, her tail no longer the even cut of a domesticated creature. She was beginning to look like her breed was meant to without the signs of bondage etched into her body itself.

Still bound by the throat bonds, the blanket, and the breast band, it was still less than she entered with - and the blanket had even been helpful during her nights when it grew distinctly more chilly. Now, though, she was ready to be rid of it.

She had been working herself against a jagged palm trunk when the first contraction hit and sent her lunging with a squeal and made her tug the thing free of her back. She had set out that moment towards the place she had last seen Sidika and her son. She whistles, a sound of earnestness, hoping the deepest kind of hope that Sidika could be found in time to help her through this foreign experience.