These caves were maddening.

With every twist and turn taken, the Weaver found himself staring into the face of a stranger, whom he often turned his nose up to and with ears pinned, simply kept on walking. The Basin had only been here for a week at most, but already he was beginning to question his sanity. This was not the arctic home he'd come to cherish, and with each day that passed, Crowley found himself almost wishing that the darkness had taken him.

The one thing that did keep his mind straight, however, was that of Arah and the knowledge of the child that would soon arrive. It was with mild disappointment that Crowley reminded himself that he really didn't know the Impersonator all that well, and oftentimes he wondered if the alabaster mare regretted the action between them so long ago. He only knew that during the times they had spent together, there was something special about the antlered lady, and whether he realized it or not, she made him... happy.

Regardless of the doubts he felt, he had made it a point to keep an ever watchful eye on the mother-to-be, his worry having only increased when they'd made the trek from the north all the way to the Heart of Helovia. Arah was heavy with child, and it was only a matter of time before she couldn't bear to lug it around for another step.

"She won't leave like her," came Talbot's conscious into Crowley's own and the stallion shot him a curious look, but after a moment, he knew that the hound was speaking in regards to Elizabeth. Shortly after Rhiannon's own birth, the then-Corporal had more or less abandoned them to tend to the monotonous duty of guarding. Other than the task of feeding(despite the Weaver's occupation, he lacked the correct anatomy to do so himself), Rhiannon had been solely raised by him. She'd grown into a fine, young spitfire, and Crowley couldn't be more proud of her.

His thoughts were halted at the sound of a voice, one that he knew all too well and that demanded his attention. Coming to a stop and raising his head, Crowley peered down a narrow passageway where it had come from, and within a moment he was moving down it with Talbot close at his heels. When he reached the end, golden eyes widened at the scene before him; he couldn't believe it.

Arah was standing by the time he had arrived, and there was not one, but two wet and bloodied bodies lying upon the stony cave floor. One was just as pale as her mother save for a few golden specks across her rump, shoulders, and around her eyes, and a curiously shaped, stubby horn situated in the middle of her forehead. The other, also a filly, was a shade lighter than himself but held to his own brindled pattern, and held two small, curvy horn atop her head. Despite their current messy states, they were both beautiful, perfect.

As his master moved forward, Talbot hung back a bit, uncertain how to act in the presence of these new lives. It had been easy when Rhiannon was born, for he was just a pup back then, and these two weren't anywhere near ready to go romping and tearing through the caves. Instead, he stood quietly at Crowley's side, the tip of his spaded tail wagging. Crowley regarded Arah with a rare, genuine smile, and ever careful of the little ones, he made his way to the mare and pressed his muzzle into the thick of her neck if she so allowed, before looking back down at the fillies.

"You must be exhausted," he remarked softly, speaking to Arah but not looking to her, instead watching as the pale sister struggles to rise to her feet. It was a fight that everyone had to win, the first struggle of life that would only lead to so many more, especially born into such a difficult and uncertain time... but the twins didn't need to know that. They knew only the warmth of their mother, and for now, that was all they needed to know.

When Arwen succeed in getting to her feet, relief should have been what Crowley felt, but instead a look of concern creased the Weaver's face when she gave a harrowing cough. But she ambled forward anyway, reaching her mother to begin her first and most important feeding. Rhiannon had been plagued with a worrisome cough for the first few seasons of her life, but it had left her after some time and she was now completely healthy. For now he would dismiss it, and perhaps when the filly had finished her meal, he would seek out a healer to look her over.

Now, his attention went to little Asch. Moving from Arah and to the dark child, he lowered his head and pressed his muzzle gently into her side, urging her to rise and join her sister, for her very life depended on it. "Rise, Asch," he spoke with voice still uncharacteristically soft, a sliver of worry still ringing in the back of his mind. Or you will die.