01-08-2016, 08:57 AM
One mare comes from the meadow. One mare comes from the Deserts.
They meet in the middle and they touch noses, trading breaths.
They are the same size, though the one from the meadow is more rawboned than her mother, and she is seized by contractions that are both quick and painful. She goes down in the grass with a groan, lies on her side and snorts in between the spasms of her womb. The other mare looks on, unable to assist but nearby nonetheless; this is something she knows her daughter must do on her own, as all mares before her have had to do and there can be no interference but Scalped is concerned - she hears a familiar yammering in the distance and wonders why the trickster-god is making his presence known now after having been quiet for some time.
The birth is quick and nasty as births are wont to be; Americus catches her breath before looking back at her damp-dark flanks where the foal lies still and she momentarily thinks it is dead until instinct bids her to climb wearily to her feet, tells her to turn around and break the birth sac with her teeth and administer mothering licks to the foal that turns out to be a colt. Scalped stands nearby still, concern banding her eyes in white as she hears that faraway cry of a coyote and knows that something isn’t right. She is tempted to move closer to her daughter but Americus has bared her teeth at her mother before licking the rest of her son clean and encouraging him to stand with a couple of unkind nips. Grandmother and mother can only look on as the colt tries his legs out for the first time; the first few attempts are pitiful and then he is standing!
He is searching for his mother’s milk when he finds it and latches on; Americus lets out a shriek of pain that has Scalped swinging her head around wildly to find out what is the cause of her daughter’s distress. “He bit me!” Americus exclaims, surprised and Scalped can only shake her head and say, “That is to be expected.” But Americus shakes her own head in annoyance at her mother’s lack of understanding, “No, he bit me!” and both mares crane their heads around and down to where the colt should be but all they see is a coyote pup hanging by his teeth from the mare’s teat, suckling away and Americus feels sick while Scalped can only stare and say, “Well, Coyote sure stirred the pot this time.” She placates her daughter with a nuzzling touch but can’t stand to see the horror in her daughter’s eyes, “It can’t be helped child but I’ll raise him as my own.”
Scalped can see that this is really too much for Americus to handle so she offers to raise the colt as her own. Americus hastily agrees and allows the coyote-colt enough time to finish suckling and as he lets go, his butt hits the ground and jolts him back into his foal-form. She has enough time to name him, plant a motherly apologetic kiss upon his fuzzy brow, and then she is gone as if she had never been and Scalped becomes his whole world. The medicine-hat mare nudges her new ward up, encouraging him to make the long trip back to the Deserts with her but he begs off, asking if he can go play. She affords him this opportunity to enjoy himself considering all that has just befallen him - the uncontrollable shifting, the already forgiven departure of his mother, and off he goes with a swish of his bottlebrush tail!
He gambols as a colt does, free and happy, then it happens - he slips into his coyote shape unaware of how it happens and how to shift back just yet. Yellow and small, he is quick to scamper about and dirty his four paws and it is such fun to chase and leap after the bugs! He eats what he catches, his hunger different in this form but no less present than if he had been in horse form, but then his nose starts to quiver and he knows he is onto something. The coyote pup puts his nose to the ground and starts sniffing, he spins in a circle before picking up the thread of scent fully and he begins to track it. Woodrow is in full hunter mode now, and his jaws slaver at the thought of what lies on the other end of the tantalizing scent he follows…
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