Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

The enduring smile he had become familiar with slowly left her face. It was replaced with a distracted sort of terror that gave him the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps an experienced mare would have recognized the signs of a fellow female going into labor but the snow-and-charcoal stallion just glanced around for the source of the change, completely baffled. There was no immediate danger from the flames they left behind so he looked back to her for more guidance. Her lilac eyes met his crimson ones before they looked behind him. He turned around in one smooth motion, half-expecting to confront some new threat emerging from the shadowy depths of the forest.

But there was nothing.

Dark ears flicked back to capture her words and the little gasp of pain, his neck twists so he looked back over his shoulder and hip at her. His stare was uncomprehending. Why would she need assistance walking? Just as he did not understand why her difficulty breathing had not lessened – if anything it had grown more ragged. The look of such potent poverty she gave him was alarming enough that it set his legs back into motion. She staggered toward him and Cineviam moved to re-examine the burns on her hind end that he had previously thought weren’t so bad. It was then he saw the surge of muscles in her belly as they tightened and relaxed in turns.

Realization did not dawn suddenly – it trickled slowly into his mind.

Daenerys was having her foal.

He felt more helpless now than just a moment ago. This was perhaps the one situation that Cineviam and his brothers had no training in. The whole process was unknown and the mere thought of it was mildly frightening. He was not the father of the child; the mare was not his responsibility. He could just leave and he doubted anyone would blame him. But she did not ask him to stay, did not ask for his help in the delivery, just to the Deep Forest. He groaned when he knows that he will provide the assistance she sought. A sound that doesn’t pass his lips just rumbled deep within his chest and vibrated up his throat.

He sidled up next to her to be the crutch for her to lean on while she walked the distance to the forest. The filth from his ashes no doubt transferred from his coat to her recently river-washed one. Small, slow steps were taken before he settled into whatever pace she set. Nothing good has come out of responding to her or asking questions. First an angry arsonist deity interrupted, the next time she went into labor and yet, “Will someone you know be in the Deep Forest to find you?” Then he kept an eye open for the sky to begin falling.

Let it be said that members of the all unicorn herd lend a helping hand to other species as well.