"Milk," Galadriel states bluntly, a touch of disbelief coloring her voice. She arches a brow and studies Laurelin, only now noticing how striking he is. Dark blue with accents of gold pair with a wild, unkempt mane accentuating his already handsome face. She blinks, tilts her head to the right and then sighs, turning back to peer down at the kits.
"They probably need milk," she concedes with a sigh, body slumping in a physical sign of defeat. Rel closes her eyes and thinks, wondering if the only solace she can offer them is a fake version of their mother. "Well," she begins, once again turning her head to look Laurelin in the eye, "I don't have milk and you definitely don't have milk, so." She thinks to shrug but can't bring herself to such nonchalance. If she had more of a motherly instinct, perhaps she would have an answer for the babes; but, she begins to tell herself this is the way of nature, natural selection, ect.
A memory strikes her, though, of when she used to run away from home for no reason other than to be a brat to her family: the Adoption Den. She fondly recalls the mildly exasperated den-mothers rolling their eyes every time she wandered in. They accepted her, though. Each time. Quietly asked her what's wrong and fluffed her foal's mane.
"Actually, I think I can lead them to the Adoption Den," Rel states resolutely. "Wanna help?" she asks. Before he can answer, she loops him and the kits into a simple vision: one she stole from the babies' limited memories, their mother. They start squealing and wriggling, but Rel quickly realizes they're too weak to do much more than that. She sighs again, wondering if this stranger will do what she asks next.
"I can make them think you're their mom. Would you carry a couple of them on your back?"
@Laurelin i am back from the dead