[B]urden of an [H]eir

[Tassle]

Creamed Dark fem plunged through the wasteland. Dead grasses crackled beneath her talons as she three-beated proudly through the terr. Hyper, restless, eager, were just a few ways to describe her temperment at the time. It was not her first child, nor her last, yet she carried a special honor with this one. It was the child of the lord Etienne. He was gentle...for a Dark. And this one had a guarenteed chance at life. At least, she had been told. This one just might survive it's first day.

Finding a barren space in the brusk land, fem lay down. The dirt, or what dirt there was between the rocks, was hard. Unforgiving. And worst of all, cold. She was cold enough. A strong gale was moving through, chilling her winter-coatless hide. Foals couldn't endure this. Yet, hers had to. There was no other secluded place to birth. She tried to find one. Ah well, what did it matter? If her foal survived, it would be that much stronger than the others. That much more capable of conquering it's own land.

Then, the pain hit. A searing, taunt pain, as if she had pulled more muscles in her abdomen than one of her small frame could hold. Belle gasped. It had only lasted a second. But, before she could savor her victory over the pain, another tore through her. It ripped her insides. Yanked at her little one. Pulled, or pushed, it backwards. Vix, desperate to make the pain stop, stood. No good. She trotted in a tight circle, dished crown pushed inward, her muzzle tucked into her jugular. Still no good. In fact, it seemed to worsen the pain. Distraught, dam thought back to her first child. What had she done to cease the pain? Oh, right. Nothing.

Giving up on her own welfare, femme rested her sweat-lathered carcass on the ground and strained. Pushed. Grunted. Sweated. Chilled. Froze. She swore hypothermia was setting in. Then, it ended. Abruptly. Abruptly enough that she quickly turned to face behind her, fearing the little one was dead. Far from it. It was kicking and already trying to stand. Too wet was it to tell the coloring. And, though she didn't care much of the gender at that moment, she couldn't help but look. A colt. A male heir. But now, all she cared about was keeping him warm and alive. Soft tongue glided over his poll, nape, barrel, rump, nostrils, mask, hooves, stilts, and auds. Not long was it before it was clean. And standing. Before she could barely start her work, the minutae had stood-though rather wobbly-and began suckling. The young one's head bobbed excitedly, wide orbs scanning it's surroundings. A puzzled look came over his mask, he wasn't happy. Carefully, though not a hint of reluctance in it's orbs, it trotted a few feet away from it's mother. Kissers parted and gums yanked at what was left of a dead bush. It wasn't long before the prickly foliage was uprooted and placed elsewhere. There. That was better. Seemingly proud of it's masterpiece, the foal trotted back to it's dam, crossbred dial held high. No bush could stand against it's mighty strength and endurance. No bush.

[Tassle]

Stats:

Name: Unknown
Breed: Clydesdale x Arabian
Coat Color: Mahogany overo
Mane/Tail Color: Black
Alliance: Dark
Gender: Colt

[Judgment]

Good. Accepted ^^