The child is called Arya, which Illynx files away to relate to Rikyn later when he asks – as he is sure to ask. The boy is overly friendly and seeks to be friends with all the children of the herd, even expressing some sorrow when some of the more elusive or hard hearted fillies he shares his beginnings with seem to wish to remain on the outskirts of their foal’s games, or with their mothers learning of the world they had been born into. She has spent many moments explaining to her child that not everyone will want to be his friend.

It does not seem to have registered with him, in all honesty.

She smiles a sweet smile and lowers her eyes to inspect the babe as Hotaru gives her a name, taking note of the unison of both parent’s fine lineage in the physical attributes of the small, newly born foal. She wears Deodat’s painted skin, the rose tint of the pelt laying across her well formed being reminiscent of the sunset hues of her dam. Two nubs rise from her brow, signifying that she will have two crowns rather than just one, perhaps three; she has seen smaller horns grow out without a sign of their coming in the youngest months, though she does wonder from which parent this gene stems. Both the Corporal and the pretty sneak are of single crowns.

Perhaps it is only an additional benefit of having descended from the First Kings, the rulers of Loorien by right and feature; it would not be the oddest of attributes she’s seen on those of her kind, to be sure, just a curious one. Perhaps Zikar knows more of lineage, of characteristics leant from parent to child; her son is as much the offspring of herself and Ulrik as this one is of the Corporal and Tolio’s beautiful daughter, and it is curious and intriguing.

"It is a fine name for a strong lass," she says, elegant voice rolling past a nimble tongue and golden eyes framed upon the filly that nuzzles her dam in the first embrace. There is not time for further words to slip past her lips, however, as a red and white mammoth approaches – one she knows as Krieger, a soldier of their fold, who according to his statements had been doing his job before he’d found them. She smiles in welcome and thanks; his swift arrival is a bolster to her confidence and security, that both she and the crimson brute had smelled the fluids of the birth and come curious and defensive.

He softens as he realizes all is well and even offers congratulations to the new mother, a fine example of how even the most ruthless and merciless of their coven can soften and even seem compassionate during the first hours of new life among their ranks. Children are often magical in such ways, Illynx has taken note of, as if the Gods have given others love deep in their hearts for their smallness, their fragility in the early years of life, a magical power to keep them safe and whole while their bodies were still small and meager.

A final party joins them as Krieger’s voice falls back into the pristine and comfortable silence that surrounds them all, the Lady’s golden eyes taking in the arrival of the Mender and her magical fox friend with a gleaming that matches the smile framing her lips. Concern meets Lena’s words along with praise, an offering of her magic posed but rejected by the new mother; Hotaru looks about the gathering as her words fall away, and Illynx takes note at this time that one member of the herd is rather absent at the time.

Where is the girl’s sire? He had come to the foaling of his other daughter. Perhaps he was out in the Steppe and too far to know of the moment coming to pass here alongside the lake?

Yet… even Ulrik had come to the birth of their son, as if he had watched her sides grow until they could bare no more and lingered nearby, anxiously waiting. Was it possible that her deranged, dirty Engineer had a deeper streak of familial pride than the man with the ruby horn? She doesn’t wish to dwell on it for Hotaru’s sake – she herself would be a maelstrom of anger and hurt feelings if she’d given it up to someone only to stand alone when the product of their pairing was brought to the world, and so she instead dwells on the positive.

"Bless the Lord of Time for so many healthy births this year," she utters, carrying the conversation away from the general niceties and social etiquettes that have fueled it so far mostly because they are droll and she is too complex a woman for such simple context, "Rikyn will be delighted to know he has a new fellow to seek out for his games. So pretty, too. He’ll have his hands full with all these stunning little fillies, I’d say." Her laughter is sweet and gentle, the tittering of a mother swept away by the gleaming facets of the love that has captured her heart for the small boy.