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Chapter 47
I was awake most of that night, watching and waiting for morning to arrive. Every few hours my foal would roll onto his spindly legs to nurse, then he would roll right down again, and quickly fall asleep with a full belly. All night I could hardly take my eyes off of him, unless a suspicious sound or smell was nearby of course, then I'd be all eyes and ears towards the dark foliage. Sometimes a bush would rustle, setting my nerves on edge; only to have a mouse scuttle out indifferently. I would laugh a little nervously, glancing at my foal, then my eyes would dart away to some other suspect.
The first rays of dawn sent excitement bubbling throughout my being! This would be my foal's first morning, and then, I'd get to spend the entire day with him! Just me and him. I smiled to myself, feeling very proud, then with a sigh of contentment, I lifted my eyes unto the heavens. The black sky was streaked with purple, illuminating the trees in a ghastly light, as the sun grew bolder the light warmed; and invited the birds. Who didn't need to be asked twice! They flitted among the limbs, rejoicing in their freedom; tweeting ecstatically in bouts of joy. All one has to do is watch the birds at dawn, and you almost want to sing yourself. I smiled, knowing I could never sing like a bird, but still enjoying the gift they were giving me unknowingly.
I dropped my head down to my foals', he lifted his big, bright eyes into mine and stared. Almost comically. I knickered and nudged him, asking him to get up. I didn't really want to stay in this spot too long, and he needed to get moving. I smiled up on him as he tried (without any success, I might add) to get up on four legs. Cautiously lifting his haunches till his back legs were under him, then mustering his strength, he lifted his backside was all the way off the ground and his hind legs were standing like normal. But his front legs were still kneeling. Evidently, this puzzled him, but I let him take his sweet time; after a few unsuccessful attempts, he finally stood on all four legs and got himself organized. There! We were ready to go.
He was fluffy, that was for sure, I stood back and looked at him - really looked - and I noted that he had a slightly dished head, with a blaze streaking it's way down. His neck was thick and shoulder's sloping, his legs were long and well-muscled, his girth was deep. I could tell already that he'd be a beefy guy. His two back legs had high white stockings, leaving his front legs dark bay like the rest of his body, save for his flank; which was dappled.
I wondered where he got his stocky looks and darkness. I was a dapple grey, and Alastair was a roanish bay, so where would he get his dark coloring? Me or Alastair? I knew nothing about my parents, except that my mother was chestnut, and my sire was a grey Anglo-Arab. I recalled Alastair's sire; a memory buried deep within the mists of my complicated heart, a memory I wished to forget, but I remembered anyways, Mourir. Mourir was dark wasn't he? Yes he was. I can't believe it. That's where my colt got his darkness? But that doesn't explain my colts' stockiness.
I shook of the memory, and soaked in the joy of my new motherhood. I started forward and we walked for a couple minutes, rather slowly, but at least we were walking, and my colt had stopped tripping over his long limbs. Then, a new thought entered my mind: what is his name? I knew this subject would drive me crazy. I wanted to name him something fitting…many names swam through my head.
I was awake most of that night, watching and waiting for morning to arrive. Every few hours my foal would roll onto his spindly legs to nurse, then he would roll right down again, and quickly fall asleep with a full belly. All night I could hardly take my eyes off of him, unless a suspicious sound or smell was nearby of course, then I'd be all eyes and ears towards the dark foliage. Sometimes a bush would rustle, setting my nerves on edge; only to have a mouse scuttle out indifferently. I would laugh a little nervously, glancing at my foal, then my eyes would dart away to some other suspect.
The first rays of dawn sent excitement bubbling throughout my being! This would be my foal's first morning, and then, I'd get to spend the entire day with him! Just me and him. I smiled to myself, feeling very proud, then with a sigh of contentment, I lifted my eyes unto the heavens. The black sky was streaked with purple, illuminating the trees in a ghastly light, as the sun grew bolder the light warmed; and invited the birds. Who didn't need to be asked twice! They flitted among the limbs, rejoicing in their freedom; tweeting ecstatically in bouts of joy. All one has to do is watch the birds at dawn, and you almost want to sing yourself. I smiled, knowing I could never sing like a bird, but still enjoying the gift they were giving me unknowingly.
I dropped my head down to my foals', he lifted his big, bright eyes into mine and stared. Almost comically. I knickered and nudged him, asking him to get up. I didn't really want to stay in this spot too long, and he needed to get moving. I smiled up on him as he tried (without any success, I might add) to get up on four legs. Cautiously lifting his haunches till his back legs were under him, then mustering his strength, he lifted his backside was all the way off the ground and his hind legs were standing like normal. But his front legs were still kneeling. Evidently, this puzzled him, but I let him take his sweet time; after a few unsuccessful attempts, he finally stood on all four legs and got himself organized. There! We were ready to go.
He was fluffy, that was for sure, I stood back and looked at him - really looked - and I noted that he had a slightly dished head, with a blaze streaking it's way down. His neck was thick and shoulder's sloping, his legs were long and well-muscled, his girth was deep. I could tell already that he'd be a beefy guy. His two back legs had high white stockings, leaving his front legs dark bay like the rest of his body, save for his flank; which was dappled.
I wondered where he got his stocky looks and darkness. I was a dapple grey, and Alastair was a roanish bay, so where would he get his dark coloring? Me or Alastair? I knew nothing about my parents, except that my mother was chestnut, and my sire was a grey Anglo-Arab. I recalled Alastair's sire; a memory buried deep within the mists of my complicated heart, a memory I wished to forget, but I remembered anyways, Mourir. Mourir was dark wasn't he? Yes he was. I can't believe it. That's where my colt got his darkness? But that doesn't explain my colts' stockiness.
I shook of the memory, and soaked in the joy of my new motherhood. I started forward and we walked for a couple minutes, rather slowly, but at least we were walking, and my colt had stopped tripping over his long limbs. Then, a new thought entered my mind: what is his name? I knew this subject would drive me crazy. I wanted to name him something fitting…many names swam through my head.
Be patient.
