She doesn't want to tell him. Oh gods, how she doesn't want to tell him. The pain of loss has so far been hers alone to bear. Seeing it reflected in his eyes is a torture she does not feel prepared to handle. The baby's death will be a tangible thing. She will not be able to hide her shame.
Iset is not surprised that Wier is there when she lifts her head, but she is quietly grateful and it shows in her dark gaze. His arrival means she does not have to wander amongst the blossoming mares to find him, each one a visible reminder of the failure laid against Iset's conscience. She would give a great deal for her grief to remain private. She does not want to fall apart.
Yet the weight of her sorrow is inevitable.
She straightens her body, doing her best to steady her voice. Her words have a robotic edge to them, her defense against crumpling under the weight.
"I am sorry you have been looking for me, Weir. I wanted to come sooner, but it was… difficult. I didn't want-I don't want to see you hurt."
She flicks her tail miserably, allowing herself a moment's pause before she rushes forward.
"I lost the baby, Weir." Iset's voice grew thick with tears. "He was born too early, just as he was beginning to form. I'm so sorry. So very sorry."
Sobs shake her sides, and she takes a step forward and then two, and hovers next to his warm body. So different from the cold, lifeless little one she had to leave. Iset aches to touch the stallion, her whole being craving comfort, but she feels stiff and uncertain of her welcome.
She wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to see her again. She feels sick with the loss of the child, and now possibly the loss of this stallion whom she cares for. To lose it all as she has found a family would be incredibly cruel.