Nyimara finds herself numb to the first pains of labor as they wash over her. In truth, she has felt the pain in her chest and belly from the moment she learned of Nycol’s death. The pains of labor etched itself into the loss that already haunted her red-rimmed eyes. She had birthed many children now, some, like Raksha and Skogra, in the aftermath of battle whether won or lost. She had faced her fair share of loss at the hands of others but to lose a child, that was something she never expected herself to experience. She might not be the best of mothers, no doubt the rumors flew, however the one thing that none of the damned creatures on these islands could say was that she did not fight for her children.

Nycol.

His loss hit deep. She had not even been given the chance to defend him. Anger ground itself out in the gritting of her teeth as the pains of labor intensified and Nyimara turned away from where the herd of Paradise gathered in loose groups and instead sought solitude that the dense jungle provided. Raindrops darkened her mahogany coat as slowly she found herself stumbling through the throng of shadows and upturned roots. All around her the air was thick with the scent of decaying plant life and rich earth. Dark ears press backwards amid the tangle of her silver white mane as the woman’s dark eyes flutter upward after a bird disturbed from its nest on the ground. Absently, she found herself watching as the fluttering of dislodged feathers floating weightlessly through the maze of green leaves above until it found itself perfectly perched on the edge of a leaf. No doubt the next stiff breeze drifting in from the ocean would once more dislodge the tiny brown speckled feather and send it once more floating downward to disappear amid the bracken and leaf litter. Lost forever. Lost like Nycol was now. She had not even been given his body to mourn and bury. All thanks to that damned Faolain.

Once more the hatred rises as another wave of labor washes over her, this time more urgent. Whether she was ready for it or not, this child was ready to make its entrance into the world. Dark flutes flicker at the sound of hooves behind her. Sleek mahogany neck cranes backwards to glimpse the pale face of Warduna trailing after her. Long silver white tail snaps audibly against her hips as Nyimara pivots towards her youngest daughter and gives her finely dished head a toss. Even through the dense brush she can see the filly’s pink muzzle quivering with uncertainty. The loss of Nycol had affected her too. Though Raksha had always played guardian to her, it was Nycol that Warduna had been closest to. Mentally, Nyimara told herself that she would need to do something to rebuild the girl’s confidence and security. Perhaps time spent training with some of the old wolf’s gaggle of children might help? However hovering over her mother here and now would do nothing more than annoy Nyimara and she already had more than enough annoyance on her plate.

Without even a backwards glance, Nyimara turns back towards the jungle and disappears into the brush just alongside the path. The pain is almost unbearable now and despite her best attempt to appear immune to the struggle, Nyimara finds herself unable to take more than a step or two without pausing to catch her breath. Already she can feel her body urging her to expel the child. One thing that the silver haired woman has learned since her time here in Paradise is that like the Ridge, there are plenty of places where one can find solitude even when surrounded by a large herd. It does not take her long to find the place she sought. Green lichen and moss carpeted the earth between the large trunks of two Teak trees. The aromatic scent was a welcomed relief to the mare overwhelmed by emotions.

Gingerly she set herself upon the earth, revelling in the feel of the cool moss beneath her sweat darkened hide. Blood and fluid gush from between her legs now as she stretches her body out and lets her mind drift into nothing.

It does not take long for the chestnut overo colt to make his way into the world. Unlike with Nycol, the newborn is quick to find his feet, dark eyes blinking against the shadows cast by the trees above. Breathlessly Nyimara lifts her head, stretching her forelegs forward to gather what strength remains in her body in the aftermath of labor. Carefully she rises on stiffened legs, giving her dark skin a quick shake to rid the broken bracken from her pelt. A warm smile tugs at her lips as already the unsteady colt stumbles towards her, leaning against the solid warmth of her side for balance while stretching his neck forward to bury his muzzle beneath her flank. ”Cato.” she murmurs, parting her dark lips to allow her own pink tongue to sweep slowly over the russet colored rump to remove the residue fluids from his body. A single oversized ear flops backwards at the sound of her voice. A smirk slides into place at the focus he put into nursing, however it is quick to fade with the sudden memory of Nycol. Nycol had been just like that when he was first born. Stubborn and hardheaded like his sire but deep beneath she had known even then that his curious heart was one of pure gold. Silently she curses herself as a single tear gathers in the corner of her eye and makes a wet path down the sharp contours of her cheek.