(Content Warning: blood and foal injury)
Ashteroth had never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life. Her blue and white sides had swelled beyond what she felt was even possible, and in the last few days, she had even wondered if she carried twins. Her mother had carried more than one set of twins in her life, and even her sister had given birth to twins. Perhaps it was in her genetics to do the same?
Her breath came out on a long, low groan; miserable at how her body ached. Her strong legs felt weak, bearing weight for so many hours in a day, and finding herself laying down more than not. She wished there was a way to find a reprieve. To ease the stretch of skin and the swelling in her ankles. Plus, no matter how much she slept, Ashteroth always felt impossibly tired. “Is this what every mare goes through?” she asked to no one, as she had found this spot specifically to be alone.
The stretch of land around her was flat, and the grass lush while the thick trees offered shade from the sun. It was strange in comparison to the chill of Tinuvel, or the steep ascent of the Peak. In some ways, it almost reminded Ashteroth of Atlantis. If she closed her eyes and truly used her imagination, the mare could swear she could hear the sound of the colorful birds high up in the trees and the soft sigh of the wind swaying the palms. “Silly.” She scolded herself, opening her blue eyes again to let them sweep around her surroundings. Making sure nothing had changed; almost paranoid that someone might have followed.
When the Peak mare felt the first ripple of labor, it had scared her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have chosen to be alone. Or perhaps she should have asked one of the many mothers living in the Peak what it was like to give birth. But the codebreaker had not wanted to allow anyone to see the fear in her eyes. To know that something so common might rattle her. So, with self-inflicted solitude, Ashteroth gave birth to her first son.
The blue roan colt was magnificent. He was big and healthy; strong from his first breath taken to the time he decided to stand. Ashteroth was a bit shaky, her body slicked with sweat, but mother and son recovered quickly. Once the colt got his first meal and took his first steps, Ashteroth was nudging him onwards, and away from the place of birth.
Hours passed by, and Ashteroth’s skin had cooled, and the pains of labor had nearly gone completely. Her son, still without a name, had taken his first nap and was now climbing back onto his gangly legs. The new mother felt uncomfortable staying in any one place long. Perhaps if she hadn’t been alone, and with the threat of the Lagoon looming over her head, she wouldn’t have been so anxious. But there was no way the colt could make the climb back into the safety of the Peak to be protected by the sisters. To be protected by his father.
A sudden harsh scent filled Astheroth’s nostrils, and she let out a harsh snort. As they had come to a small opening, she noticed how the ground was torn up from angry hooves, and the metallic tang of blood hung in the air. Instantly the new mother wanted to herd her child away, knowing she wouldn’t be the only one to smell it, and that it would draw predators near. Only the smell of newborn foal kept Ashteroth from fleeing.
Ears flicking forward and back at a constant sign of distress and nervousness, she kept her colt pressed to her flank as she slowly crept forward. There, among the grass, she spotted what gave off such a smell. A bloodied foal lay sprawled on the crimson-colored grass. It’s flesh was torn, but not by the sharp fangs of predators, but clearly by the blunt teeth of a horse. Again, the Peak mare’s nostrils flare, but she cannot pick up any other scent but the nightmarish scene before her. There is no way to pick out the culprit. The small rise and fall of the injured foal’s side startles Ashteroth, her whole body flinching, before she eases closer still. Lowering her head, she sniffed a few more times, before she began licking the foal’s injuries. It was a filly, and her skin was cold, and Ashteroth could tell she wasn’t very old. Perhaps born after her own few hours old son had been.
As long as the filly keeps breathing, Ashteroth keeps licking. Bringing warmth to the filly’s skin as she helps dry her, and circulate the blood still within. Somehow, the brave girl lifts her head, opening her eyes to look up at Ashteroth for the first time. Ashteroth gives a few low, comforting nickers before adding a soft nudge of encouragement. With shaky legs, the girl tries to stand, but it makes her injuries bleed worse. Ashteroth didn’t know what to do, knowing the filly needed to drink, but she also didn’t need to bleed out. Should I call out to someone? she thought, quickly looking around, but scared to make a noise. Afraid the culprit to this horrifying scene might return.
When the filly finally makes it to her feet, her balance wavering and threatening to fall back down, Ashteroth shifts so that her flank is easy to reach and her side presses against the filly to help balance her. Instincts draw the girl to nurse, and with how strongly she latches, Ashteroth makes her decision. Just as she had done with her son who still presses to her other side, she waits for the girl to finish her first nurse, before herding her away from the scene.
When the girl is clearly exhausted, Ashteroth knows it will have to be far enough. She has both foals curl up in the tall grass at her front hooves, licking the bleeding wounds a few times, glad to see they had started to scab over and almost stop bleeding on their own. A heavy sigh escapes the brand-new mother, before she lifts her head and finally braves a call to see who might be nearby. Maybe, just maybe, it will be Geçersiz that hears her. Knowing that she would have been near birth, Ashteroth can only pray to whatever Gods might be listening that he would have followed her from the Peak and was only waiting for whatever call she might make to meet their child. How would he take it, when he realized he now has two?
|