Twinge had never claimed to be the best parent. Hell, she had not exactly ever had a true example. Harlequin had always preferred the solitude that accompanied her duty as her guardian and thus spent most of her days wandering far from where the rest of the herd congregated before Twinge had even been weaned. Were it not for Berit and a few of the other more nurturing mares, the chestnut tobiano might never have survived. Of course that did not mean that Harlequin was a particularly cruel mother, nor was Cain a terrible father. The black and white stallion tended to be more hands off with his children and allow the mares to raise them. He had never thrived on conflict and thus did not dare to reprimand or correct any mothering. So what Twinge had learned over the years had been from simple distant observation. The fact that Scorch had even made it into a beautiful yearling was a surprise.

Twinge had promised herself that after Scorch, she was done attempting to raise a family of her own. However, the allure of Bacardi was strong and despite her resolve, the rush of hormones proved to once more be too much to resist. Despite having just returned to the islands and a new territory of their own, Twinge once more found herself pregnant with Bacardi’s offspring. Though she was not nearly as gruff and distant as her mother, Twinge still had a sharp tongue on the best of days and as her pregnancy began to come to an end, even Bacardi fell victim to her fierce bite. Once more, as the first pangs of labor begin to fall on her, the painted mare lingers between apprehension and relief. The quiet glade near the shallow stream that Bacardi had led her to on their first day in the Forest was where she had decided to birth this child. It was dangerous no doubt, to be hidden among the shadows of the forest but Twinge did not care. The comforting gurgle of the stream did well to hide her anxiety as she paced worn trails in the new green grass.

Unlike with Scorch, this child seemed as ready to come into the world as she herself was to have it. As the pains of labor subside, Twinge lifts her head to gaze back at the child she had brought into this world. Like with Scorch, the small colt is the mirror image of his sire. His tiny dark ears flop back and forth atop his broad head as the boy struggles to rid himself of the covering that had been binding his body for far too long. The painted mare stands, pivoting her heels to face her newborn as he too lurches towards his feet. His first attempt goes as expected, tumbling forward on bent knees. He struggles closer to the same ledge near the stream that she herself had trouble to climb while pregnant and for the first time, Twinge begins to think perhaps this was not the best place to bring her son into this world. ”Back this way…” she murmurs, placing her sturdy legs protectively between the boy and the creek as once again he attempts to gain control of his wobbling legs. With a final huff he manages to stand, well… sort of. His four legs splay wide beneath him as he wavers between achieving his goal and flopping back down on his rump. Twinge tries her best to mask the amusement on her ashen lips as she bends her own small muzzle to nudge his rump underneath him a bit better. A squeal of indignation rushes from the small colt’s pink muzzle as he stutters forward unsteadily and crashes onto his knees. The golden eyes that glare up at her are perhaps even more feral than his own sire. Crimson ears tilt backwards in both apology and frustration as Twinge moves closer still as again the bay and white boy attempts to rise, this time with more success than before. Pride beams from her dark eyes as he switches his damp tail and licks his pale lips. The sweet scent of milk draws his attention and suddenly, she is more than just a nuisance to him. Carefully, she shifts the weight of her swollen body to bring herself closer to him, circling tightly around him until her dripping teats are within his reach.

This time, it is her turn to squeal and clamp her teeth together tightly to fight the urge to kick out at his tiny newborn figure as he latches enthusiastically beneath her, pulling a bit more than necessary and causing her to stomp her hooves in warning. Russet ears turned backwards as she craned her neck back to nuzzle his dark chocolate hip in an attempt to reassure him that his supply was going nowhere. ”Calm yourself Burn.” she murmurs, smiling at just how fitting the name seems to be for her son. ”We will figure this out together.”…