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destiny operates by no calendar; paisley & ismay
Topic Started: Dec 29 2012, 02:26 AM (109 Views)
kimmys
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"We will be fine, baby. Just fine. I promise." It was her mantra, her method of coping with the crippling fear that had periodically overwhelmed her as her due date approached. Well, approached and then passed, and now hovered in the distant past like so many other horror stories she'd heard of. Gruesome stories that apparently, rogue mares believed were the best way to get a first time mothers over their birth jitters.

With a little panicked snort she pushes these memories away from her mind and repeats the mantra to herself as much as to her precious cargo. Her contractions had begun less than twenty minutes ago, and were not yet hard enough nor consistent enough for her to want to lay on the ground. So, instead, she paced. Round and round the small enclosed area she'd found for herself, deep within the Quarry and away from prying eyes. Normally a fairly gregarious mare, it is an odd instinct for her to want to pull away but she desires no onlookers - not even Gethin - for this most private act. While she is closest to her brother, perhaps moreso than even her own dam after the time they've now spent in each other's company, she does not need his anxiety adding to her own. It had been hard enough to deal with her own overdue state without him constantly hovering, adding his own fears to her own.

Before long, the young mare has worn a path in the ground and the contractions have started coming faster. Her water has broken at some point in time, but rather than scaring the young mare, it soothes her. Not because it is a particularly pleasant feeling to have one's bodily fluids running down her hind legs, but because it is a natural part of the process that various mares on her travels have warned her about. It means that there is not much more time for her to be walking, and that she'd best find a comfortable spot to lay. However, she is flustered by the speed at which her child seems to be arriving, and a relentless, driving instinct has her practically flopping onto the ground like a dead fish. With a will of their own her abdominal muscles strain to push the child from her body.

Intense pain, unlike that she'd ever experienced, rewrote her memories of previous hurts in pastel colors. Nothing compared to the sensation of birthing, and while it seemed to last forever, there was hardly any time at all before release. Sweet release.

As the foal's shoulders slip free from the white-drizzled mare, the rest follows easily and the dark foal rests against her hindquarters. Before she even raises her head she is reassured by the movement at her ankles and irresistibly curious, she is quick to roll onto her chest. Behind her is a tiny dark bundle, hardly visible in the twilight but striking where it lays with it's head over her leg. She is unable to reach the foal by craning her neck, but she does so anyway, whickering low in her throat.

A mixture of emotions has welled her throat shut and she cannot find any words to speak. Her baby is adorable. Tiny and fragile and oh-so-breakable, but all hers. Hers to guard. To protect. To nurture. To love. Before she is quite certain of her child's gender, she is desperately protective and already head over heels in love. Despite aching bones and a soul-deep weariness, she pulls herself delicately to her feet and shuffles carefully around so that she may exchange her breath with her filly - a girl! her mind cries - for the very first time. Tiny nostrils flare at the end of a girlishly pink nose, and her mother's blue eyes blink at her from beneath long lashes.

The young mare makes a soft sound of delight as she presses her muzzle eagerly, tenderly over her daughter's face, touching each fragile spot to know it as her own.

Some hours later, when the dark filly has risen to her feet, nursed and turned her attention to more interesting things, Paisley finds that she is no longer unsure about what to name her daughter. In the months of pregnancy, she had thrown more names at her small travelling group than she would like to admit, but none of them had seemed right somehow, and at any rate, she'd never felt really comfortable naming someone she'd never met. But as her daughter's peach tinted nose reaches up to her inquisitively, Paisley returns the gesture and murmurs softly.

"Ismay, I'm so glad we've finally met."
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