Her entire existence, thus far, has been suspended in a warm darkness - surrounded by the thrum of a heartbeat and muffled voices. It was simple, easy. But, like so many other simplicities in life (a fact she'd surely discover with age), it doesn't last and she is thrust into something entirely different in a very literal sense. Her entire world squeezes down on her, forcing her into a much more narrow space. Each squeeze compresses uncomfortably against her, cramping what little space remains of her own little world. Yet as adverse as the sensation is, she does not fight against it. She does not struggle or make any desperate attempts to cling to her own comfortable little space. It would all be in vain, anyway. A pointless struggle that would have the same ending regardless of her own actions. It simply isn't up to her.

She tries her best to relax as each contraction bears down on her body but as the squeezing and pressure intensifies, she can't help but to squirm a little. It hurts; not nearly as much as it hurts Sikeax but being squeezed and shoved through a small space that just barely stretches to accommodate her body isn't the most pleasant sensation. It feels agonizingly long before her world shifts and she's shoved, front hooves first, out into the world. The desert heat softens the blow of the temperature shock but nothing is able to lessen the shock of the complete lack of any and all physical pressure upon her skin. She'd grown accustomed to the constant snug sensation and without it she feels vulnerable and exposed. Confusion and exhaustion leave her glued to the spot on the sand where she entered the world - her warm sandy hued fur is damp and slick from the amniotic fluids though it wouldn't take long for her to dry in this particular environment. The filly is a wobbly tangle of limbs that takes her time to stand - allowing her warm green eyes to wander and take in her most immediate surroundings. Her mother is there, of course, but the two - mother and daughter - are not alone.

There are others and they don't all look like Sikeax and herself.

Her coat is comprised predominantly of warm earthen tones, the only exception being the shock of blue feathers just above her tail - a trait inherited from her mother (in color, at least). Four swirls (and very subtle bumps) in the fur on her head - two on her forehead and two behind her ears - are the only indication of the horns she'd sprout and grow over time. Her hooves are a soft grey-brown, her markings and the tips of her wings are a creamy hue. Though one might deem the pale, nearly white, silver of her mane and tail to be the most striking outside of the single spot of rich and vivid blue - especially given the darker roots of her hair. She is more finely and delicately built - a pretty mix of breeds that would, given time and growth, excel in speed.

Mother eventually stands and within moments she feels the mare's muzzle upon her flesh - that one touch easing the filly's feelings of vulnerability and discomfort. Bella shuffles in an attempt to move closer to the mare, not yet ready to rise or try to use her long legs. She'd get up in her own time but for now the girl merely reaches her small muzzle up towards her, inhaling deeply of her distinct aroma while attempting to connect once more with her mother.

Is it fate or chance? I can never decide.