ruby red glow ; ygritte, any

[mandan]

He has no explanation for the horns; his mother could not explain them either except that they came from a strange beast in a land she will likely never visit in her immortal lifetime, but that his father had been a shaman of sorts, shaped of magics far stranger than Scalped could ever hope to understand and some of that magic had taken shape in her womb in the form of a foal and he was that foal.

Farren’s voice pulls him back from the tantalizing thread of thought that he picks at - that being of his horns, as he had no idea why he was born different from the rest of them and it had never really bothered him, there were stranger things he supposed that lurked in these lands. He can hear the youth in the other stallion’s voice and realizes that he isn’t much older himself, but Farren’s bright-eyed enthusiasm is something that Mandan lacks, relying instead upon his boyish charm. He almost frowns, dwelling on his flaws but follows the goodnatured sidelong glance the other stallion gives his mate and smiles instead, chuckling a little at how happy Farran was to learn how to swim.

“It is rather fun,” he concedes, “Swimming that is.” Mandan remembers swimming the rivers that his mother easily walked across, wishing he was big enough to do the same because swimming was tiresome work for a big colt. He looks fondly upon his mate, nuzzling her cheek, “Sounds like she is a good teacher too.” It is easy to compliment his mate - she is the epitome of what a good mare should be: lovely and wise, generous and kind, and he is proud of her, prouder still that she has taught Farren a thing or two, for he knows she’ll teach their own foal well and he looks forward to that. His body shifts beside her so that he can trail his lips along her growing belly, knowing they don’t have much time to themselves for there will soon be a tagalong foal at their heels - well, mostly hers, he doesn’t remember stallions having much to do with raising their get, not to say he wouldn’t be involved or wasn’t excited, just that he doesn’t know the first thing about babies.

Mandan might even be a little afraid of raising his own son or daughter, what if he screws up somehow? He figures that must be a fear all parents have but his mother hid it well; briefly, he wonders if she has come back herself, if she knows her son is here in the Falls or that she’s about to a grandmother-mare again (he’s sure he’s not the first to give her grand-foals, but in Beqanna he is). Absently, he strokes Ygritte’s bulging barrel until she stirs and steps off from his side, giving herself a hearty shake that sent water flying everywhere though he didn’t mind the drops that splattered against his skin. Concern darkened his eyes further at her misstep but she righted herself quick enough, despite the strong urge to rush to her side and check her over - he knew she was fine, just more encumbered than she normally was and he knew he was mostly to blame for that.

In her own way, she circles back to his side and he doesn’t mind the belly-bump or the way she leans upon him. He noses her neck in a gesture meant to tell her to lean more heavily upon him because he could see how taxing this first (he’s sure there will be more, the thought is a tad arrogant but who could blame him?) pregnancy was on her. “That is an excellent idea,” he adds, trying to be encouraging as he smiles at Farren. The bay supposes he ought to do the same, to help his mate out since she was so easily tired these days and moving less. “Or maybe we could try the water again,” as it suddenly occurred to him that she could float between the two of them, if Farren was inclined to assist, and get a lot of that weight off her aching feet.

MANDAN
their altars were made of earth