"Fjandinn hafi þig!" she yelled at the turbulent sea as its white capped waves crashed over her head. Sputtering and spitting, kicking and fighting, the silver haired shield wrench resurfaced. Wide eyed, her brilliant icy blue gaze swept across the vast ocean. She cursed herself. If she were to die it would be of her own stupidity - of her own fucking pride. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, the blood rushes to her ears so that all she could hear was its quickened thrumming. She could not hear the rush of the sea, nor the crack of the thunder as it shook her with a resounding boom. She could only hear the stream of prayers that now flowed from her own lips without thought, without reason.

"Freya, I honor thee. I ask for your guidance and protection. I call upon you..." the prayer flowed from her lips and from within her own beating heart she could feel a sense of calm begin to wash over her.

ᛥ ᛥ ᛥ

On quivering legs she drags herself from the depths of the sea. Weariness. Exhaustion. All could easily describe how the silver haired shield wench felt in this moment. Every muscle in her body protested her movements, begging her to buckle beneath the weight of her own body. No. she begged. Not here. Not here. Not safe. Her instincts drove her from the edge of the hardened sands and into the protection of the dunes beyond. A secluded place, one that would offer safety... a place for her child to be born.

She stumbled up one dune and down the other side, over and over until finally the sweet scent of fresh water draws her forth. Her steps quicken as the dryness of her mouth reminds her of the salt water she had swallowed just hours before. Her knees buckled and she found herself at the sparkling edge of an oasis pool. Greedily she buried her muzzle in the cool waters and drank. And drank, until her thirst was quenched. Her silvery lashes fluttered close as a content sigh lingered on whiskered lips.

But her peace did not last long, as the first pang of child labor contracted her abdomen. She winced and bit back the squeal that threatened to burst from her lips. "Not now, my love," she pleaded with her unborn child. Another labor pain squeezed her abdomen. And another until they were close enough together it forced the silver haired woman to her side. The contractions grew closer and closer until finally just as suddenly as they had begun - they ended.

Wearily, she raised her bone white skull to set her gaze on the wet, pale golden fur of her child. Her panicked heart leapt into her throat as the filly's sides slowly rose and fell with her breathing and then the subtle movements. Was she alive? Would she have to leave this one like the last? Would the god's forever curse her? The fears galloped wildly across her mind until finally a soft bleat filled the early morning air.

"Astin mín," my love, she whispered to her daughter as she climbed to her hooves and turned to begin the process of cleaning her. Her brilliant gaze slipped across the child who lay in a heap at her hooves - every bit of her both gilded and silver in hue. A smile turned her lips upwards her daughter begins the task of standing on her wobbly legs and tucking her face beneath her belly. Strong. Stubborn. Her smile transforms into a smirk.

Every bit of her is her mother.