She doesn’t think of how babies are emerging into this world from between slick thighs or eggshells or however their method of beginning is. Nope, the little brown mare is content to drift almost the grass and wildflowers, purposeless and happy. It seems a kind of pastoral and almost dull existence but Bean is all smiles.
The air is fresh and clean.
The grass is green.
The rivers are plentiful and cold.
There is not a thing she could ask for! Why, even the birds are happy to be about as flycatchers swoop in a show that delights and keeps her entertained for a good while. She starts to drift that way, not really thinking about it or why the birds are so disturbed in that area. Bean just liked watching them, sometimes even letting certain ones sit on her back and rest or go for a ride.
(it always seemed like the kindly thing to do, like the birds and her were neighbors in this great big meadow)
“Oh!” she utters softly when she stumbles upon a heap of yellow eyes and tangled legs all belonging to a foal. Bean thinks this is strange, there must be a mother around somewhere but no mare comes charging at her in the time that she just stands there and stares. Starts to fidget even.
“What to do, what to do…” the little mare muses aloud before dropping her hesitant (she still expects a mother to form tearing out of nowhere, teeth bared and fury in her eyes) nose to the little babe’s head. Not much of a scent there besides the foal’s own and the aftermath of birth, poor thing hasn’t even been properly cleaned off.
Bean has no clue what to do even though some instinct starts to kick in and she begins to lick and champ at the foal’s skin with her teeth. In between, she mutters, “Get you cleaned, get you on your feet, and probably need some food…” and Bean doesn’t have that. She’s not a mom, never has been. Just a good samaritan that happened by while watching the birds in the sky.
@[Crackjaw] beryl words weren’t enough apparently ❤️