Twinge never had any doubt that Bacardi was not lingering somewhere nearby. She knew it as easily as she knew her own heart beat within her breast. Though she was far from a believer in love, there was a connection she felt with the trio colored stallion that delved much deeper than an understanding she was willing to admit to. He was simply hers in as much as she would be his. It worked.

When the sound of his husky baritones break above the calming trickle of the nearby stream, Twinge lifts her finely dished head away from her newborn son to gaze expectantly at his handsome sire. Shamelessly, she lets her gaze follow the handsome curve of his cheek, lingering momentarily in the proud shine of his golden yellow eyes. It was the same look he had given her when Torch had first been born, a look that was similar and yet different from other glances that often passed between them. A mischievous smirk slides across her lips as she tilts her head towards him, stretching her arched neck and flaring her nostrils with a flip of her red and white tail. ”Took you long enough.” she teases him, affection shimmering in her own darkly colored eyes as she blinks up at him. ”I had to do all the work and by myself no less!” her ears bend backwards playfully as she stomps her hoof towards him playfully. The colt beside her draws back enough to glance up at his mother in confusion and then turns to glance around him. The sight of the stranger causes him to freeze. Tension builds beneath his small frame as he exhales a sharp breath and then another. However, the next inhale brings with him the looming stallion’s scent and a sense of familiarity rises within him that he does not at first recognize. His wobbling legs shake as he takes a cautious step forward, turning so that his rump is just barely brushing against his mother’s hip, as if drawing reassurance from her warmth.

The mare chuckles lightly and rolls her eyes, ”Come now Burn, no need to be quite so dramatic.” she murmurs, craning her neck to nudge his soft hip in an attempt to shove him forward. However the colt would hear nothing of the sort, he pushes back against his mother’s touch, determined to remain glued with his hip against her side. ”Takes after his father clearly.” she teases, tilting her ears forward as her dark eyes gaze up at Bacardi through the thick layer of cream and red forelock that falls across her brow. A mischievous smile on her lips.