The elephant had left the threshold, assuming that the gravid mare had chosen to seek a home with the other pegai that had greeted her. Concern and apprehension settled in his barrel as he had walked away from the threshold— he hadn’t wanted to leave Whisper. He had at least wanted to provide some protection, or reassurance, to her.

Suddenly he freezes, his large head flying up. Had he heard his name? Ears perk as he searches the dusky light. Does he hear murmurings, or is it just the diurnal creatures preparing for bed and nocturnal creatures preparing to rise?

A piercing scream answers his question. A surprised and easy snort escapes him as he turns on heel and lopes back towards the source of such a pained noise.

Dread dropped out the bottom of his stomach as he saw the great, quiet mare laying on the earth. Another vaguely mare— Brisa?— was standing beside her. A slight bit of relief washed over him, at least she had not been alone. But was she okay?

He increased his gait, great mass thundering towards them. Though he slowed a little bit a away so as not to frighten the new mother and babe too much. Straining ears and eyes catch the thanks and naming Whisper says and sees that she is, in fact, alive and breathing. As is the foal, this little (or rather large) ‘Astra.’


“Whisper, had I know you were following me, I would have waited,” his deep voice rumbles gently as he approaches, dropping his head to her and the new foal. Since the time to give reassurance for labor is past, he simply gently touches the crest of her sweat-slicked neck, a calming and congratulatory gesture is all he can offer now. His warm breath clouding and mingling with the steam rising from Whisper.

He pulls away from the roany dam, deep blue eyes falling on the still wet newborn. His gut stirs, for indeed the little life is so fragile, so helpless, so astoundingly alive. A small grin lights his face, “Astra is a fine name,” his voice softly rolls. He is unable to help the draw he feels towards the small life.

Slowly he reaches his head—which is about the size of the babe— towards Astra, nuzzling it’s side, ensuring that it’s precious heart was beating and tiny ribs were moving with breaths.

But then he remembers himself, for Whisper might not want him nosing her child, “Sorry Whisper. I’ve a soft spot for foals,” he grins apologetically as he takes a step back away from the down mare. Raising his head he turns his attention to Brisa, whom he had woefully and rudely ignored until this point. He nods his head in greeting, face and words warm, “Hello, Brisa. Thank the gods you were here to help Whisper. I am in your debt.” He smiles as his deep gaze meets her own.