Labor was terrifying. It was painful, it was unavoidable, it was a grey cloud that hung over your head, threatening a storm that you would never be prepared for, and it was exciting. But most of all it was absolutely terrifying.

Adaeze had known that the day she would finally give birth to her child was drawing nearer and nearer, but that didn't mean that she was ready for it to happen. She had known that there was no avoiding it, there was no way to pretend that it wouldn't happen, and she had known that when it did finally happen she was going to be responsible for a little creature. She would have to love it and protect it and teach it and the more she had thought about it the more she was sure that she wasn't ready to be a mother. One day. One day.

One day had become today and she still wasn't ready.

When the pain had first began she'd immediately started looking for someplace private to drop her foal because she didn't want to be a spectacle. She didn't want the whole herd there to witness something that so private. She didn't want them judging her in her first moments as a mother. If she screwed up she didn't want it to be put on display, but damn, she wished that she knew where Tembovu was.

Ada was near the border when she finally stopped because as much as she wanted privacy she wanted to be near the herd just in case something happened. A quiet groan slipped past her lips as another contraction ripped through her body. She was going to kick Tembovu's ass the next time she saw him. There was a copse of trees and bushes that the cheetah mare spotted and she moved toward it because she didn't know if she could go any farther. The pains were coming more frequently and as much as she wasn't ready to be a mother she was ready to get the foal out and make the pain stop. 

She grunted as she lowered her heavy body to the ground, sweat had broken out across her body and it was then that the real work began.  Ada pushed and pushed and the foal slid free from her body into a wet heap of tangled limbs and dark fur on the ground behind her. Her head lifted and she looked at it, relieved that her ordeal was over with. But that relief was short lived because she was hit with another wave of pain that brought tears to her eyes.

No, no, no. Not two.

Ada had prayed about this. After Rexanna had told her about having twins she'd prayed that she wouldn't be put in the same situation. One was scary enough, but two. She, however, had no choice in the matter. All she could do was push and hope that the second foal was as easy a birth as the first had been.

And she was.

The second foal made her grand entrance into the world only a few minutes after her brother, another heap of long, gangly legs and pale, spotted fur. Ada could hear the two behind her, their breaths, the shuffling movements as they became aware of the world around them, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Despits all her fears and reservations the mare found herself smiling.

Labor was painful, yes. It was terrifying, yes. But it was also rewarding.

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The Elephant King had kept the Edge’s borders. He wasn’t certain why—or perhaps he was. Some kind of restlessness pulled him away from the Edge and his duties. He was a father (again), but these foals were growing with their mother— without their father. They were away from him and, despite the roots he had set and grown deep into the hard-packed soil of the Edge, he felt the small and foalish tug towards the Basin’s mountains. Hawezi, his second-borne but first-live son, had vanished. But he was King here, and there were those within the Edge that had imprinted in his chest. Mauja, Orithia, Adaeze… The first two had been broken and likewise found his own faults, sowing a deep connection. He had grown so close to Mauja that he had nearly killed him on his simple request.

But Adaeze… The cheetah had strength in her that gleamed on her spotted hide. A strength and justice that had knitted the gaping hole a dead child left back together. The Elephant hadn’t had such strength; he had slipped into the depths of despair, anger, and ultimately vengeance beneath such a weight. But Adaeze had quietly rebelled, resilient and silent in her suffering.

The King’s ears tilted back as his long strides paced along the border, thoughts shifting to how she had finally told him. Ever fierce, but a soft need had laced the sharp edges of his cat in the waters of the Grove. He hadn’t known, then, that he was a father to Rexanna’s children. He hadn’t known that she cared for him. And so, beneath the sharp edge of loneliness and absolute compassion for Adaeze’s loss, he had tried to give the cheetah the very thing he had allowed to be taken from her: motherhood.

And it was these clamorous, disjointed thoughts that clouded his senses; dulling them so that he did not smell the warm scent of birth or hear the grunts of labor. No, it was Mbwene’s hard and sharp yank on his tail that alerted him to his surroundings.

His black nostrils flared, brows raising as his head jerked up and eyes sharpened on the cluster of shrubs a few yards before him. He nickered deeply, warning the birthing mother of his arrival so as not to startle her— and found the very cheetah he had been thinking of as he pushed into the hidden clearing maternal instinct had pushed Ada to hide herself in. Approval flashed once in his eyes, for the Dorobian’s intuition still was strong to hide herself from danger as she gave birth. But the approval was quickly replaced with wonder as his navy eyes watched her spotted, heaving flanks contract.

The Elephant may have missed the birth of all of his previous, living children; but hew was fortunate enough to see the birth of his daughter. He watched the fluid spill out around the dark colt that already breathed life into his infant lungs; he watched the once-slender, now-swollen golden flanks dark with sweat contract; he watched the grunt and effort of the cheetah as she pushed a second child of his hers theirs into the word.

His ears swiveled forward, watching the spotted, slick, cream skin of the filly ripple into life. Calmly, and perhaps somewhat cautiously, he approached the new mother’s head, his own muzzle dropping and aiming to gently press against the corner of her mouth, “You are a mother twice over, kipaka.” A grin crossed his thick lips; as she was twice a mother, he was twice a father.

His great hooves then carefully moved towards the squirming forms of new life. Had they been more still, he may have forgone speaking to Ada to ensure their hearts beat and lungs breathed. But, as it was, these two, full-blooded Dorobian children were filled with life’s vigor. His grin grew wider as he approached the darkly hued son (his spots not yet showing) and saw two swirls of hair on his brow, indicating two horns to come. His warm gaze then swept to his pale daughter dusted in spots, also seeing the same swirls of two horns. Her coat was so bright in comparison to her brother’s, “Katua,” his murmur was low, the name slipping out of his lips naturally, as he slowly dipped his head to clean the afterbirth from his daughter, sharing the work of parenthood with Adaeze.

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kipaka=kitten

He paid for his sins. He was saved.

But some sins haunt us no matter how much we pay.

One of the fears that she'd nurtured during her pregnancy was that Tembovu wouldn't be around when she finally birthed their child children. When she'd birthed her first child, the one that had died before it had even taken its first breath, she had been alone. It wasn't until after that Echo had found her and had helped her. So when Tembvou finally found her relief flooded through her body. He was there. He was there and everything was going to be okay.

After the second foal had slid free of her body she laid in the grass, her sweat-slicked sides heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She could feel his muzzle against the side of her mouth and she could hear him speak -- a mother twice over. As he moved away her head lifted and she turned just enough to watch him as he inspected their children. Naturally she expected him to name both of them, so when he named only the girl she was surprised.

It took some effort, but the spotted mare rose to her hooves and while Tembovu cared for their daughter she made her way over to their son. He was dark, which was surprising to Ada and she wondered if he would eventually have spots like she and his sister did. Her head lowered and she touched her muzzle to the boy's ears, and as she did she could feel her heart skip a beat. He was her's. She had created a life and brought it into the world and it was alive and healthy and ... and she couldn't be happier. "Zubari." She murmured softly. "My son..." And she began the same task that Tembovu had undertaken with their daughter and cleaned the afterbirth from her son's coat. As she did she thought about Rexanna. She'd have to find the pale mare soon so their children could meet.


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The new father’s ears sweep foward, twitching at each small bleat made by his daughter. His muzzle moves across her wobbly body, feeling her ribby frame, ensuring that she was safe and fine, despite her noises. He found nothing of concern, and found himself pinned by her bright blue, wondrous stare.

His black-rimmed ears follow the sound of Ada rising; a quick glance of navy assesses that she is steady on her feet and does not need assistance. But his eyes quickly return to Katua’s stare, bringing a warm and lopsided smile to lighten his dark eyes. Slanted ears catch the naming of his son, ”Zubari.” His head dips, warm muzzle and hot breaths bathing his daughter, “Zubari is a fine name, Ada,” his voice rolls even as his great skull dips closer to the spotted filly.

“You must eat, Tutti,” his low murmur is quiet, pushed past lips that were already aiming to press into her spotty, foal-fuzz hide; guiding her towards Ada’s now-shrunken flanks. As he gently guides, his attention begins to shift from the warm body at his muzzle to the dark colt subjected to Ada’s vigorous cleaning. Though he had been drawn to the spotted filly since he had seen her birth, he was not a neglectful father. So he closely scrutinized the life and health of his son. Mbwene, having stayed clear of the messy afterbirth, finally approached the darker colt, her delicate trunk running behind Ada’s tongue as she inspected his soft, velvety foal-fuzz and found it quite appealing.

Nearing the cheetah’s haunches, his muzzle lifts and reaches out in an attempt to lightly nip the sweating, voluptuous skin there, “They are magnificent, healthy cubs, Ada.” His grin is equal parts mischievous and proud.

”My King.”

The small family is not left long in their intimate huddle. The King’s head snaps towards the sound of the other, growing larger as he tenses, preparing to protect his new lifeblood. Though he deflates upon seeing Tilney, the good Moon Doctor, also assessing the health of his children and offering an herb to their mother. And he is not alone, it seems, for suddenly Maude appears on at his hooves, dancing on her slender, auburn legs. Tembovu grinned outright at her obvious excitement, “Let them feed first, Maude, before trying to play.” A low chuckle rumbled from his barrel at the delightful little filly’s excitement.

His head jerks up at his friend’s ever-silken, always-biting voice. “Aji!” His voice is loud and booming, a new wave of surprising elation crashing on him; never had he thought that, after leaving Dorobo as he had, his childhood friend would be able to share such a thing as his child’s brith with him, “Come!”

Though such elation was smothered by a second surprise: concern. He was covered in injuries? “Mchezea wembe humkata mwenyewe,” his quiet murmur was said as much to himself as the bruise-riddled man, though the next part was said louder, “Who did you fail to charm, Aji?” Black brows raise, a mixture of exasperation and worry flashing across his face as his old friend effectively ‘spanks’ him loudly with a small branch. A low chuckle rumbles, despite the flare of him that comes from his “seed’ at the thought of an foal army. So many live, happy, frolicking foals— but he is not left long to dwell on the idea, instead mirthfully rumbling, “Quiet your jealous mouth, Aji. If you wanted a foal, all you need do was ask.”

He then looks to Tilney, nearly expectant, waiting for him to heal his oldest friend.

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Mchezea wembe humkata mwenyewe = Dorobian proverb meaning “He who plays with a razor cuts himself.”

He paid for his sins. He was saved.

But some sins haunt us no matter how much we pay.