Tuari could not escape him. Torsten had promised to pursue her to the ends of the islands and so he had done it. His assault in the commons had not been the first and it was not the last. From that moment until the scent of estrus disappeared from her skin, he covered her again and again with his body, ignorant of her protests. Her sobs and sorrow was met with murmured whispers of adoration despite the shiver of disgust that caused the bile to rise in her throat. Hunger and need to possess filled his dark eyes each time she glanced his way. He kept her close, never allowing her more than a few paces from himself even though the Lagoon was once more filled with roguish stallions that saw mares as nothing more than property. Torsten had taken her into his prison here and here he kept her with guarded eyes. Time and again she found herself praying to the gods that the seed that he spilled into her would prove unfruitful, however as the days pass and she begins to feel the familiar flutterings in her stomach, those thoughts too vanish. Once more, the cursed offspring sucked at the very essence of her soul like a leech lusting for blood.

Tuari tried to starve herself, tried in vain to use whatever possible to cause herself to miscarry the unborn but as with Torvi, the child seemed determined to thrive in the security of her belly. Day and night Torsten pressed against her, his hot breath fetid against her skin and suffocating the sense of morality that she tried desperately to cling to. So many times she found herself wondering if it would not be better to just shove aside those longings for freedom and give in to the oppression that Torsten forced upon her. Day in and day out, she wandered through the waist high sawgrass and mirey mud, her pale eyes dull and lifeless. Each day, the child within her grew despite her disgust for the sire that created it.

Morning finds her lost in the throws of labor. She felt the first beginnings days ago but willed herself to keep the child unborn. The foal and the fates saw that as nothing more than a false hope. Weakened from hunger, the stabs of pain were great. Despite herself, Tuari felt the screams of agony rip from her throat, no doubt alerting Torsten that the time he sought had come. Pale lashes flutter over silver blue eyes as Tuari struggles to lift her head, arching her neck so that a single ooid can gaze at the damp figure wriggling free of the confining sac that had so long encompassed it. She wanted to hate the creature, expected to see a deformed body and misshapen head but that is not what greets her.

Perfection. Like Torvi, the girl that wiggled and staggered into a sitting position was perfectly healthy. Two small ears flopped against her tiny head of pale sandy gold hues interrupted only by the dark line of chocolate that ran from her withers to her tail. Despite the remnants of blood and mucus that dampened her, the first hints of her pale silvery hair shines through in her little tail that thumps against the matted grasses that Tuari’s wreathing body had made into their bed. Were it not for the faint scent of Torsten that clung to her skin, Tuari might have found herself able to love the girl, maybe even want her. More than anything in her life Tuari wanted to have this child but she cannot. Delirium and fever pull at her blood-stained body as the creamy mare staggers to her feet and takes a step back from the young girl’s searching muzzle. Ears peel backwards, disappearing beneath the wisping layers of her alabaster mane as the girl nickers to her, her tiny voice rasping and filled with hunger. She needed her mother. Everything in her body told Tuari that she must go to her. All she needed to do was stretch out her lips as press against the child’s skin and that contact would forever instill the same bond that caused her to keep Torvi’s whereabouts a secret. She had given up so much of herself to care for Torvi, perfect little Torvi. She did not dare to do it again, even if it meant abandoning such a perfect and beautiful little girl. ”Im… I...I’m sorry.” she murmurs, staring at the small damp bundle before her. Pale eyes rimmed in white as she shudders her skin again and takes another step backwards. ”I can’t… not again. Not again!” she whispers, giving her head a hard shake as if to rid her conscious of the girl that lay before her, desperately pleading for the mother that she could see but not quite touch.