Another, scared, keen came from her chest as she plopped on the ground—for the moment able to ignore the mud that splattered up her legs as her attention was so wholly focused on the mangled sides of her Mai.
And, strangely truthfully, it was more the disarray of her mothers usually smooth grey skin that upset the calf. Probably because, deeper down, she knew it could lead to death. But, at her level of understanding, the disrupted side was wrong; it should be whole and neat and clean.
She swayed, weaving on her tiny grey hooves as she watched the healers work. Her wide eyes darted to her shouting, fighting brother, “Rak,” was her hushed plead. Not for him to stop fighting, but for him to make things right. An unfair prayer, but what prayer isn’t?
So she stood, wanting to fix her mother, but unable to bring herself close to the carnage.
@Arakh @Nyx