the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
Sabra... a sparkly mare, delusional in the river. Former queen, believing herself a failure at the time, and ill, so ill - she had nearly drowned just from trying to get a drink. Ilma remembers the day clearly; it had been the day on which she had decided to take her daughter out of the kingdom and accustom her to exploring the world - instead she'd had to send the winged girl back in haste, to look for Solace.
Ilma had hardly paid any attention to the lavender figure whom had briefly appeared that day, and she would not know it is the same man that had come back for her and... gifted Sabra with this soon-to-be-born foal. But it does concern her now, how she is received - similarly broken gaze, and her voice unsteady and wavering. Ilma stirs for a moment - then her gaze hardens. "First things first, Sabra. Lie still. I can't take what's not born." she says, gently but with an undertone that doesn't accept denial.
There is not much time for Sabra to do so, however. A familiar winged figure approaches; the man who called himself a monster. It seems he's found a beauty to love, but - oh, he doesn't handle it well. Not at all, he doesn't. It's wrong. His tone is too accusatory, and when Sabra tries to explain, it's clear to Ilma why the opalescent mare had asked Ilma just now to take it away. This child is unwanted.
She looks to Castile. "It should have been yours?" she questions, then shakes her head. Stepping forward, she comes between the broken mare and the splashed male to look him in the eye. "You still can be the child's father. Family is more than blood. But Sabra is not to blame, and she doesn't need your judgement right now. So if you can't say anything nice today - then you get to say nothing at all."
She doesn't await his answer, and quickly turns back to the mare on the ground, ignoring what ever fire he spews (oh, if only she knew). "Breathe, Sabra. You can do this. We'll see about the rest later." Her tone is soft and low, the warmth returned to it, and she finds a place on the mare's head to touch softly. "You'll get through this. Slow and steady, girl. Deep breath. In. Out. There you go." Not that it's the mare's first time - it's too quick a process for that, she notices. But Sabra seems to need the reassurance of normalcy right now, if this was anything normal at all; normalcy and repetitive, pre-practised, steady movements.
Birthing should leave her no room to think it over, right now.
@Sabra @Castile