She missed. And it might have been just as well, because in the tumultuous struggle to take down the beast the air had become a dangerous place. Too many wings beat in too small a space, magic pulsated through the air and it was a wonder she wasn't hit by friendly fire. Cursing wildly as she beat her wings to milden the impact with the ground the black-coated mare looked towards her child, tried to see where she was.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the thrashing beast flick its tail and send the girl flying, the tiny, pale figure spinning in a tangle of limbs and wings like a doll cut from its threads. The soft, terrified shriek of her daughter cut through her sensitive ears and made it feel as though it was she who ached, she who smacked into the ground and her tears that began to leak... No, the last bit was indeed her.

The battleground was no place for a child. Shadow knew this, she had tried to tell her daughter, and she had thought the girl knew the importance of her own life. Yet here they were; the child crying in fright on the ground, the mother crying in desperation as she touched down and began to fight her way across the field to where her heart lay, broken. Others got there before her, shielding the child with her bodies. Shadow wept in gratitude for their generosity, their kindness, and as she shoved her way past them her "Thank you!" was whispered, hoarse, barely audible for the mucus that clogged her throat.

The child tried to stand even though it was clear that she could not. Shadow bit back a sharp scolding and wrapped the filly in her wings instead, shielding her from sight, from harm, from any friendly fire - she wanted the pain of accidentally killing a child upon no one, no more than she could stand the thought of losing another child.

"Stay down, my vicious little dove, stay still. Mother's here now, I will protect you!"

Erthë stirred under the raven feathers, said something; but the mare was firm.

"No! Do as I say, for once in your life!"

The battle raged around them. The sound of it drummed in her head, she thought she could hear ever breath and heartbeat of every single horse. Friends, foes, strangers and old acquaintances. She had never felt so near them before; their heat was the heat of fever in her veins, their screams was the scream of her fierce devotion, their thundering hooves was the sound of her heart beating strongly, bravely, passionately.

Brushing her lips over the pale child's fuzzy curls Shadow turned and stepped up beside the dappled mare, so similar to Maren with those funny looking head wings. With wings spread wide she reared in defiance and kicked her front hooves against the rampaging god, prepared to defend her daughter to her dying breath.

Ah. So this was what her own mother had felt, those many years ago.

It wasn't a bad feeling at all.