Tradition be damned. Eness knew she’d probably hear a lecture of sorts from Rigel of the reasoning for such traditions that their kind have held for generations and still continued to do so. She cared not for it all in this moment with her children, the pair of foals at her hooves too unique to keep to herself and cherish so when they had a whole family who deserved to celebrate the very moment they graced the sands together. She croons to them softly, her velvet nose brushing over the darker of the twins dampened coat, and in turn chiding his boisterous redder brother when he all but whacks his brother with a flailing leg and a squeal of early defiance. “My moons,” she whispers, brushing her lips where she could to reinforce the bond they would share.

The father arrives in a whirl of sand and heavy breaths, his quickness at coming to her warming her very soul that they shared together. The moon travels along his sweat slicked hide, and the constellations along his skin wink at her as if sharing a secret joke that only they knew. “My star,” Eness says to him in a husky breath, lashes lowering over her eyes when they look down at the product of their long tortuous wait. His joy is contagious yet she remains quietly still to calm the boys should they startle at their sires exuberant attitude.

The more active of the pair, the colt that was redder than the sands of her own birth home, lifts his face to look at the other darker horse that approaches them all. He gives a shrill squeal, ears back and legs fighting to push up and untangle themselves from the heap that was his sibling. A defiant sight he is, the fight or flight instinct kicking in as another intrudes upon their moment. Eness genty shushes him, nuzzling the colt pressed up against her breast. “Hush now, this is your father,” she says in a tongue he has yet to understand, words muddled sounding but they were comforting nonetheless and so he settles back down against his sibling, pushing at the other boy with a gentle affectionate touch.

“By the moon's blessings Atair,” her eyes on her soul-sewn, reaching out to him now to brush her whiskered lips against his neck as soon as he is close, “she has given us a great gift. Look at their faces, marked for her and her alone they are.” She follows his eyes, all for their sons, from the crescent marked on the black one to the full moon on the red’s that looks as though it tried to take after his fathers own bleeding comet that runs the ridge of his face and down. Eness looks from them to the waiting brother’s just beyond and their women, eager to the arrival of the twins but also kept back to avoid the wrath of the new mother.

“The honor to name them is yours my husband, whatever you decide I will support and love as well,” her voice is lower, just for them, a gentle sound that the red colt looks up at her for and then at his sire, at last offering the male a curious sniff when it seems no harm would come to him. Movement at his side has the colt looking to his brother, nudging at the dark flesh that had yet to really budge; was something wrong?