There's a moment where Colt feels something well inside, watching the young child rise to his feet. He seems determined, his fragile figure trembling on unused supports, eyes wide but proud. This boy, he will go places, he will rise to meet her challenges, Colt could see it now during this clash of steel and bubblegum. His twin follows suit, but she comes up butt first, pursuing the boy with a more aggressive stride. Her stomping about leads Colt's smile to widen, as she has potential as well. Whether these two will strive to outshine each other or work side by side, Colt is intrigued to see, she wants to know what these children of hers will grow into.  

The screaming, oh the screaming. It begins with the little midnight filly, whose vocals are not needed and only cause a resounding whine from the colt. Colt could not take it, she could not bear the sound of this wailing brat, only just born. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, and her emotional instability at this time was too much. She would crumble, she would snap, and she guaranteed devastation. Her teeth grind together as her brows narrow, ears falling back as sour, unruly thoughts plague her mind because these pitiful wails just go on and on. "Shut up!" She snaps, hooves smashing into the ground with little restraint, panting and husky as she swallows her pride and pushes her nose towards the babe, trying to force the weak brat to drink form her. Somewhere Colt wants to deprive this child of her food, to teach her that this is how things will run when you misbehave, but she cannot do that, not yet. They are still too young to understand most of her words, to know the concept of punishment and pain, to know their rights and wrongs. That did not keep her from breaking skin on the cheek of the second born, but she doesn't regret this choice either. 

Colt hates the idea of this thing taking nutrients from her, relying on her, being dependent on her to provide meals and safety. "Drink, Sabre."" She urges, letting this name slip from her tongue. Colt realizes that this name was unintentional, but it falls naturally and so she keeps it, but a second name cannot bring itself as easily. It hides away, burrowed deep out of her reach, where her fingers cannot grasp at it. "Kid," she forces out, looking at the colt. He stands still, blinking with widened eyes, a dribble of dried blood smeared along his cheek as his attention remains glued to his dam. Colt calls for him, motioning with her nose to the location of his first meal. "Eat, child." 

The iron clad son does as he's told, and she smirks. Already he has learned to follow her words, to do what is wanted of him. Promising indeed, she watches him gently take down the first swallows of his meal, knees shaky as he eats. Her head snaps as soon as she hears someone approaching, tired body tensing as she prepares to defend her newly born offspring. Her lip curls up, and she pins her ears back, ready to spit venom and whip around to take aim. This other woman, tall and thick (rather delicious, but faintly familiar), curvaceous and threatening in a way that Colt had never encountered, she was dark and pretty and the way she strode from the darkness brought back the feeling of lust and desire from which Colt had only just recently discovered. She was the type of woman to slip poison into your drink, to smile as the blood pools in your mouth and your stomach churns with foreign liquid, her mask of death and softly burning red eyes make Colt's spine tingle with familiarity. 

Colt halts then, looking at the girl and then her son, Kid's beady eyes rising to meet her sights. Her brow rises, and she has to memorize the shaping of his markings before bringing herself to face the stranger. Oh. Colt brings forth a serious look, straightening herself and raising her head before the taller female, untreated wounds screaming in agony at her shift in position. "I never learned his name," she tries not to sound aggressive, merely stubbornly put. She roots herself to these words, but still ready to become a snarky bitch if the need for it arises. The hormonal woman was given to time to rest after the babes' birthing, and her fatigue was growing, straining her temper as she stands face to face with the shadow mare. 
"TALK TALK TALK"