She arrives in a great eruption of blood and filth, and hits the ground with such a force that it immediately stirs her into life.

The child of misery shifts, lifting her proud young head and greedily devouring the world around her. There's frigid white powder landing on her body, dissolving when it touches her damp young flesh, and there's a great tree nestled around her like a wooden hug. There's a fluffy white thing sat nearby, and she idly wonders if it is made up of the flakes falling from the sky. Then, there's Mother; she smells of sweaty silver fur, milky teats, and Mother-ness.

But there is something missing. Where is she? The filly looks hopelessly around for her, for womb-friend, for the warm body she'd spent the last few months curled around like punctuation. Where. Is. She? She begins to bray, crying for Sister, but swiftly crumbles into a fit of hacking coughs. Her heart aches, flutters, the only sign that she isn't as healthy as she first appeared. Her name lands on her eager young ears, and she finds it suitable.

Nature seizes her like a vice, and she folds her wobbly legs beneath her to try and stand. Her first attempt ends in a tragic tumble back to earth, and she dissolves into another fit of coughing. Once the shaking jolts have left her, she tries again, and this time she succeeds in staying on all fours - wobbling precariously, but stood. She whinnies triumphantly and turns to silver-dam, expecting praise, but to her horror the mare crumples downwards like falling leaves. Oizys squeals her displeasure, annoyed that Mother has the audacity to fall over when she should be complimenting her daughter, and another coughing fit sends her toppling back to the ground beside her dam. She shoves her nose beneath the mare's hindleg, hunting for food even as Nyx's body shudders and twitches in the throes of childbirth.

The young goddess pulls away from her pursuit of milk, suddenly intrigued. Is this her? She rams her little face beneath the silver's tail, watching with gruesome intrigue as sister arrives alongside a wave of blood and disgusting goo. Oizys whinnies her delight, suddenly feeling complete in the presence of her womb-mate, and she joins her mother's muzzle in snuffling across her twin's damp little body. "Enny," she repeats, as Mother names the other girl - she finds this to her liking, too.

Then, the silver's head falls to the ground. Oizys pivots, mildly concerned, but her mind is tugged away from this small semblance of empathy when her dam's hindleg shifts to expose the teats beneath. Like a ravenous dog falling upon a dying animal, the filly dives towards the milk and suckles greedily, quite relieved that Mother's awkward position isn't inconveniencing her in any way. Because that is all that matters.