Wisdom was useless, words of comfort futile; which is all well and good, because they'd been pulled by an invisible string to the back of my throat anyways. Helpless to intervene, I only look on in anxious discomfort as Africa squirmed and writhed miserably. No matter my intention or well meant presence, this wasn't a journey a man could take. Nar, tis beyond our comprehension a woman's fevered trial of labor. We were tasked to stand as sentinels, onlookers and protectors. Regardless, I have trouble standing idle, my muzzle drifts across her flaming crown purposefully -- attempting to push aside the moist tendrils that may be hindering her vision.

The sun child's cries suddenly cease, all sound is trapped behind clinched teeth and their grinding effort. Straining. There are muffled sounds of struggle as her body heaved, fighting its own battle and knowingly winning. I'm tempted to glance up, my crown drifts higher with aim to peer into the shadows of this den; catch a glimpse of that musky figure who would lay soundless. Hidden behind thigh and beneath fire.

Africa relaxes, unchained from the snagging claws of pain which had momentarily seemed overpowering. A warm wash of concern and fresh anticipation forces my eyes and attention back to the exhausted mother, though I'm not given time to ask questions or offer comfort before a muffled noise teases heightened senses elsewhere. Bottomless gems flick up expectantly, but they are slow compared to the swift manner which Africa rises from the soggy bed of thatch. Seemingly forgetful of previous ache and exhaustion.

I tremble, reflexively almost shifting to follow. Yar, but age old wisdom holds my quivering knees to stay back, (for her protection and mine) the flesh understood old laws of generations past. Though inborn instinct schools me to wait, it doesn't stop me from curiously leaning to one side; attempting to clear the way so that I might watch my partner tend to the newborn with powerful affection and tenderness. A sight that should soften even icy hearts. Our child. My heart sped up, that same sickening doubt reared its head to bring a plague of memories from when Ktulu had delivered Ranjiri. How her gaze had shimmered with that same affection for our bond and that of the life we'd brought into this cruel world.

Her eyes turn to me, those flickering flames twist their astral glow against the far wall. I lean forward to meet the gentle taste of her breath, my eyes strike a wordless question -- to which the answer comes as a worn grin. Limbs unhook their rigid lock and shuffle my frame slowly forward. Treading as if my feet sat upon thin ice that would at any moment break from beneath me and send us all plummeting to a frigid end. Crown lowers with muzzle seeking plush downy hairs and dark warmth. Africa's essence still clings around and on our filly; yet, a distinguishing essence is strengthening. Was this my second chance then? A soft smile plays across features, this precious child has already won my heart.