Sleep came with great difficulty to Faolain, whose body and mind seemed to struggle to get along as her pregnancy progressed. The moon was often well past its zenith by the time she slipped into anything resembling sleep, and she did not usually dream.

Tonight, Faolain did dream, but her dreams were thin and troubled. She dreamed of Hades and the terrible scar Cullen had given him, and of Roisin being chased into the sea by Tyr. Many of the details of these events were warped and made little sense, which was not exactly unusual of dream events, but they were upsetting nonetheless. Faolain awoke as tired as she had been the night before, only to find that the night had not even passed yet. Her legs were stiff and sore from holding her swollen frame upright, but whenever the small ‘Teke mare lay down, her protruding belly seemed to find the most uncomfortable patches of earth and little stones and pressed into them without mercy.

Faolain sighed, and stretched her front legs forward like a cat, before stretching out each hind leg in turn. She was resigned to simply existing in a state of exhaustion until she delivered this foal. She had long since accepted the many dangers and discomforts of pregnancy, and dispelled most of her anxiety, but this was only replaced with general annoyance at her condition, which wasn’t much better. She tried to keep it contained, and never outright snapped at anyone - she took special care not to show her irritation to Rivaini or Hades - but she often wandered off alone to cool off when she became overwhelmed.

Her fight with Tyr had done nothing to quell her shortening temper. He had not really hurt her, which was lucky, but Faolain had also left hardly a scratch on him, though she had come at him spitting mad like a cat. It infuriated her that the giant stallion had simply bowled her away, like a disobedient foal, and taken Roisin as though he had not even been delayed in his mission to collect her. Whenever she thought back on the battle, the black mare seethed, almost as much as she had when Cullen had nearly brought her down and wounded Hades on his way out.

This particular bout of insomnia and nightmares left her in a state of greater vexation than usual. She was just so tired of being tired, and sick to death on top of that of the arrogant Lagoon stallions. With a faint groan, Faolain extricated herself from the sleeping Rivaini, checked to make sure Hades was still near, and tiptoed as well as she could down the path to the shore. The ocean was cold this time of year, even if the jungle remained hot, and the chill of the waves on her legs often soothed the pain. Before Rivaini was out of sight, Faolain turned, and for a moment considered waking her and inviting her companion down to wade in the moonlit surf with her. Rivaini was, of course, in the same predicament as Faolain. In the end, though, she decided against rousing her copper mate; neither of them were particularly good at sleeping on the best of days, and if Rivaini had finally fallen into slumber, Faolain thought it best to leave her to rest.

The walk to the shore was uneventful and slow, and when Faolain reached the sand, she gave a tiny squeal and a little buck. Under her breath, she cursed Snow for getting her into this, but she didn’t really mean it. She was fond of the black stallion, even if he caused Rivaini’s hackles to rise whenever she saw him.

Faolain sighed, feeling a little bit better after her very small outburst, and stepped gratefully into the cold, quiet waves. They slid around her slender legs, working their frigid little fingers into the aching joints and numbing them almost immediately. She stood for a few moments, still, before beginning a leisurely walk along the shore. Exhausted, but far more comfortable, she walked with her head lowered and eyes at half-mast. Her ears splayed to either side, and her tail dragged lazily through the seawater, but she felt relaxed and unbothered for the most part.