Reunions, it turned out, were not that simple. Re-learning how to exist in the sphere of someone else's existence after spending so long apart came with more growing pains than either Grier or Isla were prepared for. Still, it was fairly obvious that neither mare would change any part of it. Even when their personalities clashed (a frequent thing, given their similarities), they usually found some way to circle back around to cooperation.

Mostly, anyway.

---

"Who is the da, Isla?" Grier asked, not for the first time. At Isla's eye roll, the matriarch frowned and insisted again. "Surely ye are not plannin' to raise yer wee one wi'out somewhere to lay yer head at night? Please tell me ye didna pick some layabout wi'out any means to care fer ye."

Isla shook her head but kept grazing, well-used to enduring her mother's well-meaning forays into matters that were none of her business. In truth, the little red mare had - somewhat foolishly - hoped that the connection she shared with Ori would magically be enough for them to settle down. It hadn't been, really, for either of them, but her handsome lover did not carry the evidence of their dalliance in his belly and was free to resume wandering the islands.

Isla could too, she supposed, but the thought of giving birth and raising a child - a child - all on her own was daunting. So - despite the relentless badgering of her well-meaning mother - Isla stayed in the Prairie, where at least she would have someone to help her navigate the tumultuous firsts of motherhood.

"I have you, ma," the younger finally answered, her voice exasperated despite the tired smile on her lips. "Don' I? Ye'll help, an' I'm sure my wee siblin' will like having someone else tae play wi'." At her mother's frustrated expression, Isla stretched out to touch her reassuringly. "Besides, he'll come back, ma. He's not da, dinna fash."

Which was true, but probably an overestimation of Ori's interest in her. It made her feel better to say it though, and she could see her own relief echoed on Grier's face. "We'll be alright, ma. You'll see."

---

Which, it turned out, was mostly a lie. Despite all of her mother's warnings and all of the random bits of childbirth folklore she'd picked up across the islands, nothing had quite prepared her for the singular pain and desperation of labor. The need to be rid of this small bundle you'd so carefully grown was indescribable.

And yet it had lasted less than half an hour between her water breaking and the moment of clarity she'd reached, lying sweat-soaked on the ground, listening to the quiet snuffles of her son in the space behind her. If you had asked Isla at the moment, she would have sworn up and down that she labored for days to deliver the boy, and that nothing was enough reward for that amount of agony.

And then she met him, and everything shifted.

The boy had woken to two faces beaming down at him, cleaning and fussing over him in turn. Isla called him Kerr, eventually, once his little limbs had grown strong enough to support him, but he answered equally to a chuilein and mo luran. To little darling, and my boy. To handsome and sweetheart. Kerr knew no other state of existence than beloved, and he relished in the care and attention devoted to him. He bloomed beneath the care of his close knit family, but not even their watchful gazes were infallible, which was how three day old Kerr managed to sneak away from both of his guardians to amble across the open space of the Prairie with his head high and eyes wide as he took in this strange, curious world.

OOC: No responses necessary, but feel free to seek out Kerr (wanding alone in the grass), or Isla/Grier (grazing together quietly nearby, still watching him from a distance) <3