She's still here.

He wondered why, at first. The island was cold and not at all too inhabitable; well, the southern point was, but, it's still cold. Winter might be ending soon, but up here, even if the nights had gotten less freezing, it was still very cold.

Had she asked, he would have carried her, or, well, supported her swim across the canal anyway. Too many strangers in this place, and perhaps too cold for a child. Or for any pregnant mare. She might have been safer with Scorch and Brennen, in Nerine. Warmer at least, even though Nerine was also cold, especially in winters.

She wasn't the only one to stay, though. Heartfire was still here (although, she could just be in-cre-di-bly stubborn, like him so, well, maybe that was not the best comparison). And there were young ones, although not newborn babies perhaps; Briella, sick and all, had survived the icy cold too. So there was a chance that it was going to work.

It's still not ideal. Not at all what either of them had imagined, at least certainly not what he'd hoped of their time together. So many years had been wasted. But then, the world as it currently was, just wasn't safe any more, and there wasn't much to do about it. They couldn't have foreseen this coinciding; there was just the matter of dealing with it. But it did seem as if she wasn't very happy, sometimes. Most times.

He fell into the now-old habit of keeping watch from a distance during the day, and keeping her warm at night. He usually left a little before morning, to see if there was anything new happening this day. This morning seemed rather uneventful however, so he returned more quickly than usual.

She was easy to track. Hoof-prints deep in the snow and cold mud, frozen water and soil cracked where she'd gone. Especially since the last few days she was mostly pacing, so it wasn't like she would ever go far. She would still get up and move about restlessly, even though he frowned at her - didn't need to say it; if she couldn't swim to the mainland, then perhaps she shouldn't be tiring herself by pacing?

This morning was different - she hadn't moved, hadn't gotten up to graze or even pace. So he neared the small shelter she had found, slightly worried something was amiss; but he simply caught her resting, like he'd told her so many times she should do, and... hmm.

It's not everyday he gets to see this any more. That small, crooked smile creeping up her face - almost involuntarily so. Beautiful. As the wind picks up his mane and tail, he hardly bothers that it softly sways his forelock into his eyes; he blinks several times, but it still obscures the view, and at some point he quietly tosses his head - it's breaking the moment, perhaps. She might notice the movement now.

He searches her features again, wondering how she feels.

Perhaps today, she's happy after all.

Oops.

He would have laughed if the movement hadn’t made him so aware of the weight she’s carrying, and what that means. Still, he makes sure to take a few steps forward so that she has less trouble seeing him, but not enough -hopefully- to appear even more threatening.

He tries to find a word of reassurance, but then she breathes his name in a question, and he can’t help but out a small chuckle, closing the distance then. ”Aww, you’re such a fierce momma. I’m sure they’re lucky to have you.” he quips easily. He moves to nudge her head, steadying himself for a blow to the head though, since it’s likely that she’ll act on that threatening stance of hers now.

Her change in demeanour however, is noted with surprise and a tilt of his head, curious chocolate gaze directed at her until she tells him what it’s about. She says the child is moving - it’s still so unreal to him, this family business, never having been mentally close with the women bearing his children until far after they’d been born. Yet they both can’t deny the swelling of her barrel, or the minor movements in it, and he surely won’t deny he’s happy it’s there, despite the bad timing (in the end, the timing might always be bad; there seems to be not a moment’s rest in their life so they’ll just have to make do and steal their times together to be a family).

His attention moves from her pretty face to her extended, dotted side, ears forward as he wonders what’s going on in there. ”I wonder what it’s like in there. Do you think they’ll hear us?” he asks, absentmindedly moving his nose across her neck and sliding off her spine to press his forehead a
and birdge of s nose her swollen side. It’s not very soft any more, like she used to be; must get tense there now with the growth. ”This child’s keeping you up at night, aren’t they?” He eyes her sideways, mixed worried and amused because apparently, they’ll have a temperament - like either parent. But then if the baby keeps her up that much, then she’ll eventually not go into labour so well-rested.

By some miracle, this time there's no rubble flung to his head. Then again maybe she's just too tired. He scoffs at her remark, and fat, thanks to you, and shakes his head in pretend-shock. "Breckin, how could you say that? They're alive, not fat!"

How she has never attempted to kill him, knowing it wouldn't last anyway, was also a miracle. She might just not be the type (although... he remembers some sharper nips and the like, which had exactly been what had lead them to this moment... ah, well, attention). He'd gladly do it, though. Take a hit. He knows he'll get a smile out of her most of the time, and that's really worth the work - worth all this idiocy of his.

She knows how to jest in return every now and then, though. Like now. He's finally serious for a moment, and she completely ruins it for herself. Well. Can't be helped then. Making a small tssk-ing sound, he shakes his head at her, gives her a look. "I thought you'd grow a little light for the baby while you're at it." Feigned disappointment crosses his features - sure to receive another of her famous little bites, but on his scales they just don't really leave a mark. Good thing they didn't, he'd probably look the part.

I imagine it's possible they can hear us, she says, and he scowls. "All the more reason not to call them fat." he turns his attention away from her and back on her exposed side, moving his nose over her skin. "Don't worry baby, momma calls me all kinds of things, too." he says then, before moving his head up to rest on her spine with a challenging smile.

It doesn't take long for her to start worrying however - well, at least they're on that point where she voices those worries now. It's something, he supposes. "I know," he says softly. "But Breckin, there'll always be some sort of danger." Cursing himself a bit for saying that word aloud, he presses his lips together for a heartbeat before continuing. "But you're not alone." Heck, even if he himself got preoccupied, she would have others to turn to. He's not planning to, but, well, you know. It's extra reassurance of sorts, to have a family like that. Or, maybe not, if they all decided to meddle with the upbringing of the child. Hmm. Might not want to tell Breckin about that part.

And then she just drops.

Panic. Ears fall flat to his skull when she suddenly slips away from under him, and it's only in a reflex that he's able to crane his neck enough that her head doesn't smash on the rocky ground too hard, probably. She falls and he doesn't know what to do about it, should he even be doing something? Is this normal?

She presses her eyes shut in obvious pain, convulsing almost with the labour of, well, not screaming maybe? All he can do now is try to make her a bit more comfortable, but he doesn't even know how to do that, he has no healing powers or anything, he just has freezing ice, instead of heat to keep her warm - well, body heat is something he has perhaps. He shuffles himself behind her back on the ground, his head below her neck the next time she lifts it in a painful contraction - the rock is quite hard and cold enough for her aching belly to rest on, already; no need for her to make her head more uncomfortable, too.

Luckily for him this is indeed the normal way of things. When a small form starts to pop out; toes first, head following, he finally knows how to breathe normally again, himself. Breckin is still mid-birthing however, and he can't exactly get up to look without having to drop her head. But that's alright. They can look together, after. It doesn't take long any more then, and suddenly the spotted mare shifts weight, and he pulls back his head to look over her shoulder, too.

She moves frantically almost, in cleaning the chocolate filly on the ground. Curious, he wonders where that colour hails from, because it's not exactly bay, but he couldn't care less if it was something Breckin or he, carried in some way. That there, is their daughter. Or Breckin's perhaps even more, having done all the hard work.

He moves to get up, still nostly in awe. "Daina, look what you made,” he whispers. He starts move over to help the girl get clean a little; but Breckin only catches his eye once and when she does, she falls back again. Shock and scare fight to gain the upper hand as he watches that - again, is something wrong? - then only pays attention to her form. Still a little... fat, as she'd called it.

Now might not be a good time to remind her he has a twin sister, or that his mother is a triplet?

This time, it all seems a little quicker, thankfully for Breckin; he has just about enough time to softly muse over the gold-and-brown of the filly; their filly, his daughter. Obvious of course by the gold in her mane, much like Chryseis and Ophanim were marked. This one's his daina's daughter though - a baby deer. She even looks the part.

His eyes lock back on his struggling love, worrying if she has enough energy left to pull through. Why can’t he take some of this pain? Or give her some energy? He extends a nose to touch her, then wavers, falters; better not, perhaps, distract her. Standing a little awkwardly over one baby girl, he just has to wait and watch for the other to be brought into this world also - a dotted one like her mother, but red based instead of black, with a pinkish look to most those spots. Such a contrast to the first. But they're both so, so beautiful. Perhaps even more so than their mother (no, scratch that, just look at her adorable sweaty face). He smiles.

He softly touches Breckin's poll to get her attention back, relief making way for happiness and joy on his face as he looks from her to the two girls she'd bore. Two. He still hardly fathoms. However, it is with a much more abrupt motion that he jolts his face back to hers when she asks him for names. "Uhh... It might be better if you did that..." He'd probably make the worst names ever. Some come to mind instantly, and get dismissed just as quickly as well. Goldilocks, Freckle or Spot, Coco, Chocolate, Hershey, Baby Girl One and Two. No, bad names. Think of others. Leliana, his name twin. Or maybe something fiery, after his mother, Heartfire, and Ea. Damn, but there has to be something he can say. It might be obvious in the way he seems to think, then make a frown, twist an ear, gives a slight shake if the head. No, no, not good enough. A sigh. Giving up on the seriousness of it. ”I only have bad ones. I guess we could always go with Daina? Or, Brecan - nah, sounds boyish. Breli. Oh, I met a Leliana, think that’ll work? Leiliana if that’s better. Maybe just Spot, or Dottie. Fawn. Amber. Honeysuckle. Fluffy? Let’s just call them Minime and Miniyu.“ Rambling, he’s rambling. Should definitely stop. But he just... kinda sets off into a storm of nerves and names that don’t really fit their prettiness. He supposes there is some cuteness in Fawn and Dottie, but, well, that doesn’t seem like a good name to be honest. Not a serious name anyway. ”I’m sorry, I’m tiring you. I give up.” Looking to the three girls on the ground, he feels rather stupid for failing them, ears drooping back into his mane. Can’t even find a good name for the little deerlings.

He takes a deep breath after finally making his own mouth stop (or perhaps it could have been just a long pauze); it had taken some time for Breckin to notice what he was doing or where this behaviour came from, and now... now she’s just laughing at him. His gaze narrows, the grey pool of brown and blue fighting to gain the upper hand, as he tries feign being upset by that challenging, knowing smile.

He’s not supposed to be endearing and cute. Hmpf.

She slowly stands; he has the feeling she doesn’t want his help so he stills his little twitch of muscle before rushing forward. Listening to her, he nods, silent a while, looking to the gold-marked girls. Perfect names for perfect girls - but it’s so hard. And he hadn’t exactly had time to think on this beforehand, so he has no names at the ready either.

We made them she corrects, and he shakes his head. ”You did all the work.” he noses her shoulder at this, but looks at the girls with a rather puzzled face. Still nameless. Blue eyes trace them as they wiggle and start to move. Two girls. Alive. Real. But he can’t possibly think of anything good enough for them, and he’s a little sad about that fact, disappointing himself perhaps.

He has to rely on their mother for that, like he had (more involuntary) with Chryseis, Thorgal and Ophanim. He’s right though, Breckins ideas are far better. He grins at the name Oisin, tugging on the white spotted mare’s ear. ”She is, isn’t she,” he says, looking at the twins warmly. At the name Eurwen, he just nods a bit more seriously. The little doe-eyed filly was more than just the regular fair, he figured. But then again he might be biased. Because he loves them more than anything. Easy how that goes.

”Those are perfect names. They fit much better than anything I could come up with.” Trailing his nose over Breckin’s rather sweaty neck, he tries to get rid of some of it’s humidity before she talks again (but that moment is rather short). Looking at her, he seems to calculate, then takes the gamble. ”I guess that’s fair, I do have a twin sister somewhere out there... But we should be glad it’s not triplets, like my mom was.” Feigning a serious face, his eyes glance rather green-ish at her then though, forsaking the chocolate of his father that he wore until recently; melted. Why does that always keep happening with her, he sometimes wonders. But he has no answer - or one. Depends how one looks at it. She knows him too well, by now.