This baby carried low, preferring to sprawl sideways until she felt like a ripe melon, about to burst. Where other mares looked cute or adorable with this little baby bellies, Arael more closely resembled a blimp. When she walked through the newly-rising heather, she carved a triangle-like path now, as her low-hanging belly bent the stalks.

Still, she didn't regret a single moment of it. The winter - her first on Tinuvel - had not been pleasant, but she'd made it through. She'd huddled near the herd every chance that she got, and sought out the warmth of her Queen whenever possible so that they could both take a break from shivering. Now that the bitter winds were yielding to warmer spring days, and now that the snow had melted from the most oft-used paths and the lower stretches of land, Arael flourished once more.

She knew that her time was drawing near from the small contractions that tightened across her hips for days at a time, leaving her sore and more easily irritable than before. She was terrified that this child - whom she already deeply adored - would turn out like Velahrn, and so most of her waking moments were spent in hushed prayer, her face turned sunward as the low-murmured words tumbled from her mouth. Now, more than ever, she needed Etheria's guidance and protection.

The Inlet offered few places in which Arael could hide to give birth; the only one she knew of seemed to be sacred only to Ironclad and his Queens. It hurt a little to not be included, but Arael did not question Ironclad's judgement. She knew that she was not fit to rule, and that the only reason she was alone now was because he was taking his time to build a proper herd for them, rather than rushing to fill it with just anyone. Soon, she would be far too busy caring for a newborn to worry about not having a friend of her own rank in the herd.

When the true contractions finally began, Arael was quick to sneak away from the herd, although she did not go far. While the wolves had not bothered them terribly over the winter, she had heard their howls growing closer each night and knew that she could not bear to live with herself if she lost her child in such a way. Buried in a taller-than-average stand of beachgrass, Arael gave birth to her child and found a whole new reason to devote herself to her goddess.

It was as if her daughter was carved by Etheria herself. Beneath the birth-wet, the filly wore a coat as golden as her own had been as a child, and the pale hair that encircled her beautiful amber eyes belied her eventual gray coat. Panting, the petite mare propped herself up far enough that she could stretch back and acquaint herself with the newborn, a soft, constant rumble of happiness fluttering through her nostrils.

"Hello beautiful," she murmured as she set to cleaning and nurturing the filly, helping to untangle her knobby limbs and encourage her to rise. By the time the long-limbed filly had set to nursing - her rump already higher than her mother's underbelly, Arael had already fallen deeply and madly in love with her. Briefly, she lifted her head and offered her thanks to her goddess before returning her gaze to the golden swells of her daughter's rump.

When the filly had drunk her fill, Arael lifted her head and debated calling out for Ironclad. Her mother had always taken her siblings to see her father, but Deimos had shown no interest in the child that they'd created, leaving her unsure as to the 'protocol' of this new world. The fact that she had had a daughter instead of a son, added to her uncertainty, but she eventually decided to compromise between her doubts and her pride.

Slowly, she escorted her newborn away from the scene of her birth and into a more open area before lifting her gaze to look for a familiar face. Quietly, the petite mare nickered to let them know of the new arrival, before soothing herself by running her lips across the pale wisps of her daughter's mane.