Killgore sashayed to the border, a young colt following dutifully behind her. A young silvered thing, such contrast to his Mother's dark hide. She was feeling much better, sleek even, having rid herself of the baby weight. She was proud of this one, so robust, well-built..solid. He was like a little tank, a young bull, and his eyes. That was her favorite. This boy had his father's eyes, and she would not have had it any other way. A devil child. Perhaps, though isn't that what they said about all of their Children? Whispers, always behind her back, never ever to their faces. They were jealous obviously, they wanted what she had, a flock of gorgeous little demi-gods. She misses Branka, where ever had the woman gone? She didn't know, she knew of loss, she had learned and she picked herself up to carry on.
some might think her delusional, crazed, off her rocker. Killgore thought Gyffen was the most delightful stallion. Handsome, charming..she could go on. No doubt she's told the child all this, her new boy, he would know his father well. Stopping just outside she nickers, straightening herself and doing her best to make the boy presentable. There wasn't really much to be done with a foal, their hair always stuck up at odd angles, they were gangling, awkward. She did her best though, licking roughly at her sons dark mane, it did nothing to tame the short locks. She sighs, impatiently whipping her tail around.
