He's trying to sooth the aches of age and abuse in the surf again, letting the cool saltwater wash up against his swollen joints and rinse away some of the grime from his unkempt beard and body. It doesn't seem to do much for him physically, but the quiet and the gentle, rhythmic whoosh of the waves rushing in and back out again has a calming effect on his mind, which is almost as good. He closes his eyes, relaxing slowly into the sand beneath his hooves.

'Look.' His companion prods in his mind, met with little response. 'Look.' He repeats, this time even more adamant, dragging the stallions eyes open. It's then that he realizes the low, rhythmic tone he's been drowsing to is more than just the sound of the surf. There's a soft soprano to the tune, a feminine humming, and something familiar and unsettling to the tone of voice. He swivels his head to scan the beach, emerald eyes sharp with apprehension.

He might have mistaken the mare for a beached whale if it weren't for the coffee colored tips of her feathers spread wide around her prone form. 'Sabia.' His companion uses the name he overheard her give that day in the grove, slicking the stallions ears back against his poll. He has no intention of approaching her now and needs no reminder of where he last saw those dappled flanks, though they'd been much slimmer then.

A clamor of unease rises in the stallions mind. He hadn't anticipated a pregnancy. It's not that he doubted his capabilities at the time, or now for that matter, but he hadn't thought the whole encounter through. He'd put the ordeal out of his mind, tucked the grey and brown feather away between the greasy locks of his tail tuft and deliberately cut off all trains of thought heading back to that evening for the time being. He wanted to let the rawness of his actions fade a little before dwelling, but an impending child removes that option.

He's going to be a father again, he thinks guardedly. She wouldn't have kept it this long if her intention was to terminate the pregnancy. She'll foal it, and soon if her grossly extended sides are any sign, but will she keep it? He wonders, will she care for it? His brows pinch in a pained expression at the thought of his becoming a father again only to find the emaciated corpse abandoned somewhere. Suddenly an urge to confront her blooms, but he stays rooted to the spot, fearful of inducing such a reaction by his own interference. He shrinks back instead, ducking behind the low rise of a dune, his companion complaining and questioning in the back of his mind.

He'll wait instead, see which herd the mare returns to so he'll know which border to haunt until news of a birthing breaks out.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Sabia