[open] Like a fine, aged wine [Any; Birthing]

[Blasphemare]

blasphemare

Spring had arrived. With it, the snows had begun to melt, and the grasses were once again turning green. The winds whispered through the trees, now bright with pink, purple, white, blue, and red flowers. It almost seemed wrong that the world should look so beautiful in the wake of so much destruction that had recently rolled through it, but it was almost a blessing as well.

Blasphemare stands to the edge of the meadow, those blood-colored eyes scanning the world around her. She had grown large in just a few short months. The foal within would now be ready to come out, and not a moment too soon. She’d grown weary of him jabbing her sides with his hooves. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to what would come next, however, the cramps, the stretching, the pain. It had been so long since she had been through it that now it would be like going through it for the first time all over again, and her magic was weak after the quest, so she wouldn’t be able to use it while also going through the tiring event of birthing. 

Still, she could use it to evict the child from her womb. And this she does, concentrating on the pathways that would signal the birthing process to begin, and soon, she could feel the vestiges of cramping in her womb. She shifts her weight and concentrates on the child within, shifting him around so that his hooves are positioned to come out first, and that’s the most she could do with her magic.

Now the waiting began. To pass the time, she takes to wandering the perimeter of the meadow, pacing. This helps with the cramps at least somewhat. Soon enough, however, the cramps come on one after the other, and this is when she decides it is time to lay down. So she finds a spot where the grasses are tall and lush, and hides herself within. From there, it doesn’t take long to push the child from her womb.

He is beautiful, his ombré coat going from black to teal, with an actual star shining from his forehead, and the shadows around him shimmer and shift unnaturally. Instantly, Blasphemare feels that love, that adoration for the child that only a mother could feel for her baby. He immediately begins to squirm and struggle, pushing himself to his tiny, unsteady hooves, and she rises with him, struggling herself with the effort, gently touching his side to help him steady himself. 

like a fine, aged wine