I find myself pleasantly surprised as the tobiano stallion does as he was bid, departing from the intimate scene to escort Baba Yaga from the Lagoon, lest she make any other trouble. It left me alone with Lavender and I watched in surprise as she nearly crumpled before me. I hated how concerned I was, but I could not deny it. She wasn't even mine, officially, and yet she - even more than anyone else - seemed to want me to stick around. It was a strange position to be in, but I found my hooves mired in the mud and my attention on her.

She gave me the option of naming him, and I'm fairly certain I blinked at her dumbly before gathering my senses and letting my gaze shift to the colt. This was… all new to me. Neither Hiyori nor Vogue had wanted me near during the birth of their children, much less to name one of them. Usually, I assumed I gave off the impression of a predator, of a monster, of a villain, which tended to negate any warm, fuzzy feelings my partners might have. Apparently my persona had not worked on Lavender.

I was stumped by her proposition, unable to articulate what I am thinking before Blizzard returns, makes his statement, and leaves.

She murmurs another soft plea and again my brow furrows, my lips still mired in quicksand but against my better judgement, I nod. Yes, I will stay with her. Yes, I will watch over them. Even as she tells me that she will wait for me to deal with Blizzard, I know she doesn't really have it in her. I've never really considered the toll birth takes on the mother, but its obvious to even my untrained eyes that she's barely keeping upright. And while I'm still firmly telling myself that I don't care for her more than any other mare, I also don't want to see the mother of my child harmed.

No, I correct myself. I don't want to see our - not my, not mine - our trinket harmed. There, that was it. "I'll be here," I answer, my voice thick. "I'll watch over you both."

And some time later, if she does rest, I'll lower my muzzle to the boy. I'll drink in his scent and familiarize myself with it. Imagine, for a moment, that he might become something great one day. And I'll murmur a name for him, not certain where it comes from or why, only that it feels right for the small colt and his doting mother. "You're Kythri," I murmur into his ear, feeling foolish and embarrassed even though there is no one to witness this chip in my armor.

Stallion - Young Adult - 15.2 - Brown Overo