He can impart no words of wisdom, cannot ease her suffering with some vast stored knowledge. He simply embraces her, caresses her, the only form of relief he might know. Though he was never stupid, he was a creature of physicality not of song. Not of sentences and paragraphs, exploding with descriptive syllables that came like breathing. He was the breather, he was the action, the story and not the telling. Engels lapis eyes taunt him, unfocused in their peering, a string pulling at her mouth. She was amused with him, his shortcomings always seem to do her this way. His lapse in structure brought smiles to her velvet face, and he didn’t begrudge her them.
Soft vocals fill his alert eardrums, faint, exhausted. He had heard her this way rarely, and still others had never known she was capable of such dulcet music. She asked for nothing, save for his presence, and he found some anchor to still his movement. He was never so still, or he could not remember ever being so, everything ceased until the squelch of life came forth. He wasn’t sure how he had managed, to lay sight to the miracle of birth once it was all said and done. He had an idea of what it would be like, what it might look like, but he certainly was not prepared for the actuality of the process. He saw the dusty female in a whole new light, as she did what at times seemed impossible, but her body had persevered. She had birthed their child with no assistance, with no prior training to the exercise, no guidance. It was all backwards to how he thought things should go, one did not just happenstance complete a feat. Her she was though, as always, proving him quite wrong. His backwards thinking and upbringing was always lit to show a new path when she was around, he’d never say just how much he learned from her.
In the end it is nothing short of amazing, the little colt that breaks free from her barrel, all fur and legs. His coat is a lovely silvered hue of buckskin, a moonlit pallette of his mother’s own golden tint. Dark hair lining his neck and tufting at his rear, one small hint of his father.(can edit this part, as I get many different pictures back on silver buckskin search) He hears little else past her next word, they spark discord in his mind as he tries to register them. ”Vercingetorix..I’m sorry what?! You..We surely cant call him that.” He was taken aback, shaking his mud colored head. He stamped a single brawny leg at the loam, its descent followed by raking. Surely she wasn’t serious, surely this was just one more jab at him. Some game to cause a rise, for she had certainly won. How else would she have come up with some absurd word? One he could hardly pronounce, let alone remember, a grating heavy tongued pronunciation. No, absolutely no, he thought as he waited for her to end her sport.
Dutiful Soldier|Lieutenant of the Chamber