Popinjay most certainly did not stay where Lethy had left her, but wandered off, following the first sleepy insects of spring, and barely eating any of them. Really, it was only one, and she hadn't meant to do it, only she wondered what the pill bugs tasted like.
Not great.
The centipede hadn't tasted of anything because it rolled up into a wild ball and rolled away, startling her into a fit of bucking, after which she forgot the creatures entirely and took off running, weaving between the trees. Thus occupied, Lethy is left to her own devices for quite some time as she attends to the business of giving birth.
When at last the filly does stumble upon the new pair, she only looks on momentarily, watching from a small rise overlooking Lethy's den. This is not the first time that Popinjay has seen a newborn foal, or pregnant mare. Although she was born late in the season, there was at least one other foal born even later, and so she is not startled by the colt's dampness or gangliness, the sharp smell of amniotic fluid, the blood. She is not bothered by his ungainly movement, and she especially does not get near. She remembers the protective and jealous mares of her herd, the flying dirt and striking limbs when curious yearlings and other adolescents got too close.
No, she keeps well away as mother and son bond, returning to her wild tear through the woods with a laugh.
Not great.
The centipede hadn't tasted of anything because it rolled up into a wild ball and rolled away, startling her into a fit of bucking, after which she forgot the creatures entirely and took off running, weaving between the trees. Thus occupied, Lethy is left to her own devices for quite some time as she attends to the business of giving birth.
When at last the filly does stumble upon the new pair, she only looks on momentarily, watching from a small rise overlooking Lethy's den. This is not the first time that Popinjay has seen a newborn foal, or pregnant mare. Although she was born late in the season, there was at least one other foal born even later, and so she is not startled by the colt's dampness or gangliness, the sharp smell of amniotic fluid, the blood. She is not bothered by his ungainly movement, and she especially does not get near. She remembers the protective and jealous mares of her herd, the flying dirt and striking limbs when curious yearlings and other adolescents got too close.
No, she keeps well away as mother and son bond, returning to her wild tear through the woods with a laugh.
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
