Well, that's a bit of a concern. So is the fact there is something prodding her in the leg. Then, suddenly, the dull and throbbing tired-pain in her insides begins to ease. She feels wind tickle her flesh and thinks it could be magic - suddenly strength seems to flow through her, and her eyes snap open. Her head, which still feels leaden, lifts up slowly and painfully from the ground, and she looks around with an alert blue gaze. There is a pale mare who she recognises, from a meeting on the beach many years ago and several herd gatherings since, and judging by the sweat on her body, she has just healed the silver. "Oh, shit. I didn't realise...thank you." Her voice is earnest, because for all she knows the woman has just saved her life, as well as the lives of her foals.

Shit, her foals!

They're both standing and are both nudging her, persistent and obviously hungry. Then there is another figure, and the warrioress' heart turns over. Tembovu... He had protected her valiantly during the God fight, the fight she'd been forced to flee from for fear an errant blow would harm her children, and since then she has wondered if he protected her out of genuine care for her or because he thought her swollen sides may be his doing. She had considered that, of course, and realised how it must look to him. The only reason she knew that they belonged to the blood bay and not the elephant was that she hadn't been in heat when she and Tembovu danced. Now, seeing her children with red fur and crimson horns, her knowledge is affirmed.

But, she thinks, can he have been so sure? She loves her lifestyle, wouldn't give it up for the world, but she is so caught up in it that she often doesn't give a thought to those she may hurt in the process. She does not consider what she does to them with her lazy attitude to love, her wanton lusts and love of freedom. Now, as she lays with sweating flesh and exhausted body, she fears that Tembovu will be hurt by the knowledge the foals aren't his. She never said she would be mutual - hell, she made it clear she doesn't do mutual - but what if he'd thought it, even for one shining moment?

She can't speak to him properly now, with Evangeline nearby and foals to feed, but as she looks at him she tries to portray with a glance that she will talk to him soon, when she is recovered and her twins are safe. They are not a thing, but as a friend and herdmate she feels that she owes him an explanation, and an apology for not telling him sooner about their sire.

When he speaks, complimenting her strong children, she allows a short and genuine laugh to escape her foaming lips. "It seems I chose somebody a bit too virile this time - I have never had twins before." It is now that she realises she is still lying prone on the floor with her foals stood expectantly over her, and with a grunt and a herculean stab of effort, she rises to her feet. Tembovu's teasing drags a chuckle from her, and she fixes him with her electric gaze. "Slave driver," she retorts, mock-offended. Like her twins, she wobbles on limbs that seem too feeble to hold her weight, and she's so bone-tired she can hardly focus on anything except keeping her balance. The magic may have healed the wounds that could have killed her, but it can't possibly remove the fatigue of childbed.

She thinks of everything she knows of twins - how rare they are out in the wilderness, how their presence is usually a cause for panic because of how dangerous they are to birth. One of the mares in the soldier's old herd died birthing twins - with both of her foals perishing soon after - and Nyx used to dread the notion of ever falling pregnant with them as the survival rate was so low. In this land of magic, they are certainly more common, but she can fully understand why they are so lethal to bring into the world. Without Evangeline, perhaps Nyx would have died too, and without her precious milk, her strong babies could soon have followed.

It doesn't bear thinking about.

She shifts her hindleg aside, to expose her teats for the foals to suckle as they will. She encourages them both with a guiding, gentle muzzle to their quarters, hoping she will have enough milk to sustain both. They smell so warm and so hers, and despite her exhaustion she can't help the smile and contented whicker that tumbles from her lips.

An earlier question of Tembovu's comes back to her - names. She's been counting on Deodat turning up to name at least one of them, but there is yet no sign of him. The mantle will fall on her, then. She looks at the girl and racks her mind, trying to think of a theme, something that incorporates dam and sire alike. "d'Arcy," she names the girl, with a decisive touch of her muzzle to the velvet flanks. The boy remains nameless for now - she hangs on to some hope that his father will appear to put his mark on the newborn colt. She missed the presence of his dog, and her own companion is too far away to send in search of him. Dominus took himself off as soon as the mare's labour began, so he wouldn't be tempted to eat her newborns.

She looks again to Evangeline. "I thank you again, miss. Your magic probably saved my life." Jesus, the shame of dying in childbirth - the silver soldier thinks the only fitting death is one on the battlefield.