Silas, thoughts startled harshly, suddenly, pulled from slumber by a sting that put even the memory of her limb’s gruesome detachment to shame. SILA... She moaned heavily, voice choked by agony, lean legs stiffening impulsively as arcing nerves seized all control of her body through the length of the contraction.

I’ve... a knife through my... spi... - she grimaced crudely, skull rolling backwards, and flaming crest writhing like that of a stricken serpent.

It had become terribly difficult to heave up off the spongy nest of grass and leaves in recent days, and she more often stood to sleep consequentially, than lay. The evening before however, energy stores had been too low and before she had even become aware of the height of her weariness, weak knees had bent and her mass had crumbled down upon the bed. Now, her abdomen twisted repulsively, violently, as the knife’s stinging blade recoiled from her skin.

There is no blade, the zephyr answered his beloved’s distress worriedly, skipping into danger across agile legs to glance by the back of her rocking body for the slightest moment.

The air was sticky - humid and still - and sweat already stained her dappled canvas a murky black hue. It saturated heavily the wicker beneath, pooling slowly across the stone floor. Outside, the pale wash of moonlight allowed a comfortable ambience during the midnight hour, it was peaceful, quiet – save for the strained cries and frightened tears that spilled with more and more frequency from the mountain’s foot.

“Mid...!” trembling lips called anxiously, but the sound of her voice was smothered by another burst of excruciating pain – she wondered if the vertebrae in her spine were exploding, one and then another, and another, and cried out again desperately with clenched eyes and grinding teeth. Make it stop! she begged Silas, neck curling up involuntarily and forelegs straight (stiffer than pine). She heaved as hard as she could - pushing and groaning until cool-creamy irises were blotted red by bursting capillaries.

As the pain dulled briefly, Africa’s tortured body fell limp again across the bed. Find him... she panted breathlessly, too weary – too terrified - to move at all.

As the horrified zephyr scuttled to obey in a growing state of confusion, the next wave began to rise through the struggling mare’s core and she sobbed uncontrollably, biting down across the straw mix hard enough to spur new pain through her jaw line (it paled in comparison).

Bathed in bright, glistening star-glow, Silas returned to his labouring beloved at the head of her stallion lover, pulling short just by the mouth of the cave’s entrance and alighting into to the overhanging bough of a shadowy tree. He watched from there apprehensively, dipping only into her screeching thoughts when the ache of confusion grew too much to bear.

Help arrived as her slim, sweat-slicken body was contorting to the demand of another contraction – they were coming quick and fast – and her throat bulged as she threw her throbbing skull back to view him vaguely. Midas... she barely whispered as the pressure building lulled briefly; robbed of both strength and air enough to beg. Bloodshot eyes were riddled with resignation, despair, though legs thrashed to life once more as she fought to escape relentless agony building once more through her bowel - to drive it down and away, thrust it from existence.

The sound of tenderness and the electrifying touch of his warmth against her frightened, fever-chilled skin, pulled Africa from the pit of anxiety and she realised none too soon what was happening. Blunt molars ground together harshly as knees and hocks alike tightened, and she fell silent; pushing with every inch of her being until all at once there was nothing – warmth spilling, pooling beneath her thigh, and surreal, euphoric weightlessness. Flaming neck slumped back to earth and the soft bedding received her skull gladly; her exhausted mind slipped into a moment’s quietude and slumber – but there was no sleep to be had.

There was a sudden murmur behind her, and yellow eyes were drawn swiftly to its source – a soggy figure sprawled across tireless, licking fire and with a stern flick she removed those black tendrils away. For the moment all thought of the standing stallion was lost and an insatiable urge to tend to the foal consumed her. Hooves united in bold ambition to lift Africa’s mass from the floor, and with unimaginable ease she rose and turned, lips drifting tentatively near. After only the first caress their child moved - lifted her tiny pale face – and with pumping nostrils she tasted her daughter’s scent greedily.

Without pause for reason, the new mother began vigorously to clean the foal’s skin, to warm her and all the while soft breath whispered dotingly about the frail babe’s form. She could not have explained the understanding that settled through her soul, the instinct which rose even above the cry of her own necessity. All focus was fixed solely upon her child, and only when the downy truth of the filly’s colour was revealed did Africa slow.

Ashen face turned finally, and eyes rose to find the fathomless golden gaze of her lover, and she stepped aside to welcome him forward if he wished then to come. No voice stirred from her throat, it was parched and each breath rasped en route to hungry lungs, but whiskers rose to meet him and a weary smile danced through her expression.

Besotted, naturally, Africa lingered with a low strung crest to view eagerly the interaction between father and child. Flame danced frivolously to cure the darkness all around them, deeper still beneath the rock, and it shed a warm, soothing glow; enigmatic, because the mild heat of the night grew no worse. She was glad for Tallsun’s blessing that night, if only because this beloved child was not born into biting cold wind-chill. The hot season had become only another reminder of the chain of past failings, and she looked forward longingly to the moment leaves began to dull on the trees; for now though, a new distraction had entered her life.

As the commotion inside the cavern lulled altogether, Silas peered down from his perch with a narrow, nervous eye. Still he dared not slip into the chaos of her thoughts – the pulse of her emotions through him was yet to ease, and for the first time fear ran ripe through his bloodstream. He guarded it from her cautiously, like even Fina might do, with a meal.

For a while the filly seemed to hold focus upon her father, but she turned sooner than Africa had expected; her brow creased and in concerned motion twitching mouth moved to brush the stallion’s obsidian cheek. She felt a devastating need to bind their relationship, to see affection season between them and secure it – such was the weight of her maternal drive and reeling hormones in the moment. But Midas seemed not to falter and moved to touch the soft, silky hair adorning the babe, and with baited breath the new mother watched.

Soon enough, their daughter’s childlike gaze returned to view him, and relief spread instantly through the one-winged mare’s being. There was no trace of the fear or reluctance anticipated; there, written upon her delicate, fine face was only innocence. So pure was the soul before them that Africa felt a surge of resolution sweep beneath her skin – there was nothing more important than her daughter, and for the child’s sake she would shed all reservation about the past.

A sound broke her thought.

She realised suddenly, that she had bristled defiantly – ashen facade lifted high – and rapidly sank again to tend to the foal. Lips nuzzled the downy hair between lazy ears, and they traced a path down the soft, cropped mane until she was within range again, of that sloping, winged shoulder. Lightly she nudged it, paused, and gently urged it again. Africa wanted the filly to rise, to perhaps drink if her strength allowed – if they dithered, surely she would only weaken further. Her understanding was unexplainable, certainly she had never felt so inclined to insist any other suckle, but milk streamed readily down the inside of her thighs, lighting a fragrant path that the foal would intuitively follow.

“She... she has two wings...” the dappled whispered softly to Midas, eyes filled to the brim with natural apprehension. Their daughter had moved to the mare’s warm flank and she preened dotingly the small tuft of hair available (it had been tucked snug between gangly hind legs previously).