Naz's reassurances had soothed my soul throughout the entire birthing process, and I held them close to my heart as I cradled our newborn daughter. I knew now that the birth was over and the immediate danger passed, but I still clung to her promise to love her as deeply as I did. Allah could be fickle, and had stuck down new mothers in the past to suit his godly whims. As much as I prayed with my entire heart to always be there for my little angel, I was reassured by Naz's dedication. She would always be loved.

I knew that I would dwell on her presence and her assurances later, but as I crested the dune on the way to my beloved, I had eyes and attention only for him. He stands transfixed, as under our daughter's spell as I was and my heart thrums so loudly in my chest that I am certain he must hear it. Even as I encourage our precious girl forward, my gaze flicks back to him, torn by this intersection of the two most important beings in my life. I am desperate to know his thoughts and feelings.

I do not need to read his mind to see the love the blossoms across his face and I exhale in relief, my muzzle dropping again to the slender form of our girl. Our daughter, tiny and perfect as she is, stretches towards him with wide trusting eyes that cloud in confusion as he dances away from her. She squeals, the sound a soft high peal in the quiet of the dunes, and her tiny muzzle bounces in indignation that the thing that she desired had been taken away. She jostles against me, nearly losing her balance and I echo his laughter in a small chuckle that belies the tiredness that seeps into my bones.

He murmurs words to his gods, words that I know and should perhaps respond to, considering their content, but I am far too tired. I know that our daughter will be raised to respect both of our traditions, and I vow to allow her to choose when the time comes. It is perhaps not in keeping with the traditional form of my beliefs, but we are making a better life here, and I will not allow my daughter to be as constrained as I was.

She will be protected and fiercely guarded, but raised to believe in her own strength. It was a luxury I had not enjoyed until coming here, and I often still reveled at the freedom it provided me.

My love speaks again, solidifying his love of her with words that bring more happy tears to my eyes. I want to hold him and to touch him, to draw strength from our own connection. As happy as I am, and I am so happy I feel as though I should burst, I am also teetering on the borderline of being overwhelmed. It was one thing to trace the swollen lines of my belly and dream of the day I would meet our child. It was another to labor through her birth. But now the whole ocean of her future swam before me and the weight of the responsibility was terrifying. Would I ever be enough for her? Could I really do this?

He moves to me and I wrap myself into him, burying my dished face into the proud slope of his shoulder. Our daughter, fierce as she was already, pressed into my side and used me as a crutch to reach for her goal once more. I glanced down through my tears as her gummy lips parted to explore the muscular swathes of his chest. I sob-laugh through my tears, even as Antares' worries spill into the air.

I shake my head to reassure him, a smile forming tiredly on my lips. "All is well my love. I just want to be with the two of you," I begin, wanting to erase the crease of worry between his brows. "And to rest," I admit with a sheepish lift to my lips. The mention of rest makes me want, more than anything, to curl up in our oasis with our daughter and to sleep for another eighty years. The thought of our brothers coming fills me with twin threads of elation and exhaustion and I shake my head. "Her uncles can wait to spoil her until the morning."

When he asks of her name, I shake my head again, my heart swelling again as I look up to him, the tears twinkling in the rims of my eyes. "I have already had so many of her firsts," I begin hesitantly, unable to tear my gaze away from him as I speak. I had felt her first movement in my belly, and the way she preferred this plant over that. I have seen her first breath and her first cry. Witnessed her first steps and first snort. I watched her first indignant bleat as she fell, and cradled her through her first rest. I have had so much of her, but she belongs to us both, and I want more than anything to make sure he feels that same sort of connection. "I thought you might like this one for yourself."