The pain is unyielding, responding to no shifts or weight or stretching that she can think of. It's not like a stick in your hoof or a scratch on your leg but something so visceral that she can't quite explain it, like her whole body is changing, mote by mote, simply by enduring it.

Though Fearne is not denying her worry that birth is hard - likely far harder than anything she has done before - something in the way that she responds soothes Vette. Hard yes, but not impossible. And something she keeps choosing, despite knowing the pain it brings. It's a small hand up the long mountain ahead of her, but she is grateful for it nonetheless.

"Whim?" She echoes, looking down at the sleeping newborn, a smile lurking on her lips. "That's such a pretty name. It fits her, I bet." She could only imagine the girl when she was awake, bobbing around the forest like a newborn fawn. Soon, if the gods were kind, she would have a playmate of her own.

At the other mare's suggestion, Corvette nods and moves away from her friend's side, only slightly reluctantly. She waffled at the edge of the clearing as if uncertain. Instinct urged her to keep going, well beyond the company of her friend, but fear kept her tethered close enough that she could still hear Fearne if she said something. Eventually, she found a small pseudo-clearing that looked appropriate, and after some rearranging of some brush, she paused to consider her work. Only then did the nervous first-time mother lower her head to the ground awkwardly and begin levering her oversized form to the ground.

The knowledge of Fearne being nearby reduced her stress enough that the actual birth she'd been dreading flew by in what felt like mere minutes, although was likely to be closer to half an hour. By the time it was finished, a small black filly lay at her heels, shaking her dark head as if in shock at all that had happened to her.

"She's here," Corvette murmured aloud, with the hope that Fearne would be able to hear her, but kept her attention focused on her first child. The pain hadn't disappeared, but the mental space it occupied had shrunk so much that she didn't really care. The oxytocin of seeing her daughter outweighed even the residual cramping.

She peered up at what sounded like hoofbeats and then redirected her gaze to the girl. She was so dark in coloration she nearly blended in with the shadows, save for the ring of soft gray fur around her intelligent little eyes. She bleated softly, the sound not quite consistent enough to be a nicker. Corvette crooned in response, her eyes welling with tears as she nuzzled at the girl's figure. "What do you think about Corvair?" She asked, her ears twitching as she watched for the girl's - or her companion's - reaction.