I hadn’t know that my favorite Sleuth (my only Sleuth) was with child. Call it a curse of living as head of our kin; it seemed the higher I climbed within the ranks, the less I knew of the ongoings within my own herd. Between inter-herd communications, and various family events—this life had turned into a spasm of never ending requirements. Now it was known and understood why Kri had always seemed weighted when approached during private hours—her eyes, vibrant and strong were still clouded with worry, concern. Despite my stumbling’s as a leader, we were strong now, and growing stronger even with Kri’s continued absence. I could only pray this wave of luck stuck around.

Shadow had a lucky season with the rest of us. Any growth around her abdominal region was played off as simply eating a healthy meal. She remained active, but distant. I assumed it was her growing style as she settled into a ranked position.

During the early morning hours, before the sun had even climbed over its first few peaks. Fina returned from a hunt (as she often went off alone to kill during the cool of night), a worry has creased her brow and images stream to flounder my attempts at blissful asleep. For a moment all I can do is fight the foggy dreamscape; my stirrings are intensified when she starts to whistle again and again. Grumbly my head falls aside, locked knees bend and shift my weight to the right. “What is it?” I whisper into the night. She caws softly, strangely urgent.

“Shadow. Laying down.”

Wings shuffle irritably from their dragging position, they coil up and I pick up my head to glance back at the fiery bird, “So?” I asked, already growing more alert as shadowed visions from her mind transfer over to mine, “Blood,” she says quietly, “smell lots of blood.” Body stiffens and sleepy peace drains from my vision—my feet start pumping sand apart, tearing into the ground that had bedded my kin for generations. There wasn’t time to feel fear, only a base reaction held enough sense to surface, “Show me!” I called aloud, scrambling to ignite the air with wings that would speed me to her side.

The protective yearning instinctively takes lead. I inwardly dared whatever beast had wounded her to still be around; they would find little quarter under my hooves. What I found is indeed a battleground, but one of a different nature. Upon approach we could see Shadows pitblack frame laying ever so still across the sand. Panic fluttered alive, quickening my heart and making cool beads of perspiration rise. Strong appendages tip untucked feet rapidly toward earth—uncaring that the speed would later cause sore legs. Daggers kicked up soil and spread gold like a silent apology to mend my intentional wounds.

Crimson laced the sand like a poorly written song. I could smell the wet stench of her effort. Something moved weakly just beyond her flanks, that tiny bleat made my heart freeze its pace before frantically speeding ahead. A foal. The recognition was immediate, this wasn’t my first birthing experience—though I quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about Ktulu.

Steadily I approach my exhausted friend, she looked to be asleep. Likely from the task of giving birth. For a few spare moments I thought she would rise—welcome me with a sheepish but tired smile. No. The sly lass didn’t even twitch when approached. Nay, too much blood, I thought. Her chest was still rising and falling in that familiar steady rhythm, but every few seconds the pace was weakening. Each breath was becoming a struggle.

“Shadow?” I called softly, confused. Slowly my muzzled stretched toward her face with soft kisses that were usually only reserved for another, “Shadow? Come now my dear sister—stay with me, yonder babe will live and so will thee.” The cause of this distress, a tiny winged cherub colored exactly like his mother lay behind. I lay down beside them, stretching one large golden wing across the mother—attempting to warm her cooling body. “Onni, Fina. Find Onni as fast as ye can.” I say it aloud to Fina, so that Shadow knows that help is on the way.

Sometimes it was the act of focusing that kept individuals fighting, “Ye is not alone.” I kept talking small bits of encouragement, running my muzzle along her shoulder and barrel so that she would hear and feel the presence.. My gaze kept trailing to the foal, he was likely getting chilled by now. Calling upon my magic I forced the sand beneath his straining body to gently pull said babe toward my other side where another wing could cover his frame and keep the warmth from leaving entirely. There were no other dames to take said colt in, if his mother passed on. So would he.