Bathed in bright, glistening star-glow, Silas returned to his labouring beloved at the head of her stallion lover, pulling short just by the mouth of the cave’s entrance and alighting into to the overhanging bough of a shadowy tree. He watched from there apprehensively, dipping only into her screeching thoughts when the ache of confusion grew too much to bear.

Help arrived as her slim, sweat-slicken body was contorting to the demand of another contraction – they were coming quick and fast – and her throat bulged as she threw her throbbing skull back to view him vaguely. Midas... she barely whispered as the pressure building lulled briefly; robbed of both strength and air enough to beg. Bloodshot eyes were riddled with resignation, despair, though legs thrashed to life once more as she fought to escape relentless agony building once more through her bowel - to drive it down and away, thrust it from existence.

The sound of tenderness and the electrifying touch of his warmth against her frightened, fever-chilled skin, pulled Africa from the pit of anxiety and she realised none too soon what was happening. Blunt molars ground together harshly as knees and hocks alike tightened, and she fell silent; pushing with every inch of her being until all at once there was nothing – warmth spilling, pooling beneath her thigh, and surreal, euphoric weightlessness. Flaming neck slumped back to earth and the soft bedding received her skull gladly; her exhausted mind slipped into a moment’s quietude and slumber – but there was no sleep to be had.

There was a sudden murmur behind her, and yellow eyes were drawn swiftly to its source – a soggy figure sprawled across tireless, licking fire and with a stern flick she removed those black tendrils away. For the moment all thought of the standing stallion was lost and an insatiable urge to tend to the foal consumed her. Hooves united in bold ambition to lift Africa’s mass from the floor, and with unimaginable ease she rose and turned, lips drifting tentatively near. After only the first caress their child moved - lifted her tiny pale face – and with pumping nostrils she tasted her daughter’s scent greedily.

Without pause for reason, the new mother began vigorously to clean the foal’s skin, to warm her and all the while soft breath whispered dotingly about the frail babe’s form. She could not have explained the understanding that settled through her soul, the instinct which rose even above the cry of her own necessity. All focus was fixed solely upon her child, and only when the downy truth of the filly’s colour was revealed did Africa slow.

Ashen face turned finally, and eyes rose to find the fathomless golden gaze of her lover, and she stepped aside to welcome him forward if he wished then to come. No voice stirred from her throat, it was parched and each breath rasped en route to hungry lungs, but whiskers rose to meet him and a weary smile danced through her expression.