A boundless quantity of time has been spent in this watery world of warmth and weightlessness. Ears have  been let to grow content, complacent, trusting the steady, companionable murmur of beating hearts, comfortable amid a vocal community of pulsing organs and whispering currents. Loneliness is a feeling yet to blemish her innocent, pristine mind, for within this busy neighbourhood has always stirred another, bigger and bolder than the rest (than she!); blunter points and spongey rims once mutually tried the flimsy film between, but now the dark sanctuary together shared, has grown too tight for play.

The cushy waterbed has grown restless, agitated, quickening like bound elastic against her soft, saturated skin and gentle argy-bargy games have given way to feeble quests for contact and reassurance; gangly, bony limbs press close towards his tangible presence and tiny soggy lips seek to bury into the unwavering certainty of their bond. The world is shrinking slowly, gradually, and the echo of heartbeats grows hasty, loud, all around.

Pillowy walls constrict again suddenly, clench, faster. The babe resists, forcing slim shoulders back as the neck dares to crane the opposite way, yet she tires too quickly (faster than her foe), and as her strengthless bones slump into retirement, the walls cave still further. The darkness around her shudders and convulses - almost violently - and anticipation flinches through the new, pristine cavity of her mind. What is happening? After a time lying still, unable to sleep - riding the slow, coursing tension - she stirs, flounders, for her position has become terribly uncomfortable. They are forced harshly together, and reciprocal thrusts bruise delicate tissue. The bed has grown deeper, narrower, unfriendly.

Another sharp jolt flings the babe suddenly from rest, her watery nest twists unmercifully, unbearably around her and lungs suck, startled, gulping a mouthful of sweet, reassuring amniotic nectar. It is a brief lull however…

That fluid is retreating swiftly and her refuge has become still tighter than a glove; it drives her frail form from behind, head first with force and determination that she cannot hope to match. Wriggling in vain, ignorant to the event unfolding - the whole new dimension waiting on the far side of her twin - she jostles and slithers along into a horribly taut tunnel. Suddenly he vanishes… she is fighting alone.

The living walls rub constantly at her skin, coaxing and controlling her movement; this journey she unwittingly, involuntarily, has embarked on. Thin legs aim to thrash, but there is no longer room but for the forward motion wrestle of uterine contractions. She bides her time, gathering strength both physically and mentally; then - with every inch of her being, ignited with shocking adrenaline - the foal unleashes a flailing counterattack, twisting, writhing and struggling, desperate to be free.  

Everything around her falls quiet, motionless, and she nearly slips between those ravenous jaws of fatigue.

The last hurrah hits with unimaginable force.

Huge pressure bursts from behind and forelegs clear that bump in the road like free-gliding serpents. The head - lips, nostrils and fastened eyes - follow in rapid succession, then a limp neck, shoulders, and the putrid puddle of framework to conclude. She falls earth-side with a thud, crumpling into the cold palm of land, and gasps loudly stunned and overwhelmed as sensory overload engulfs.

Soggy lashes flare but for a second, closing again in an instant to deter that blinding exaggeration of illuminated night; in a stupor, face rises to wave about, helplessly vulnerable in the icy gale, which is such a contrast to home. A frightened cry slips by those peeling lips, and bloody, wet feathers shiver, fumble outwards until they lie sprawled - unfolded - to either side of her nestled shape.

There is radiating warmth alongside, and her strengthless form slouches towards it; to him.

Moments pass before again those icy eyes flash, fixing upon the hazy impression of her precariously perched sibling. Inspired in turn by his courage, she too thrashes, flounders and struggles in the sand; but alas, gravity’s cruel hand is unrelenting. Instinct is an impulse hardly ignored. Grey flints once again strike forward while heavy feathers drag and flap uselessly amid sprays of golden powder. The tender note of familiar voices clouds all forming fear, and for a brief second, she finds clarity of thought enough to coordinate fresh effort.

Legs splay, wobbling and trembling, as weight hangs like lead above them, but bulbous knees are strong and unbending now despite the surging fatigue. Already her twin was standing and though each scrawny limb seemed reluctant to budge, her soft quivering nose sought his familiar taste in the air. Soundlessly her damp face moved through the chill to find him.

@Cirrus