Sea Horses:
Chapter Thirty Eight:
Amaira blows sharply on her gloved hands, rubbing them together as she walks.
"My God is it cold," she complains to no one in particular. Tucker, trotting along at her side, snorts in agreement. When they reach the paddock fence, Amaira hops up to sit on it and Tucker wriggles underneath. Brown shapes waver in the distance, rounder than usual. Amaira has been sent to check on the broodmares in their winter pasture. She sees one mare's head shoot up, frosted grass paused halfway through its journey to her mouth. The mare finishes the mouthful before whickering a greeting. Amaira gives a small wave. A few of the mares jog over, stomachs bouncing, while others waddle after their younger herd mates, too old to be rushed. The mare who had first spotted her pushes and nips her way to the front.
"Rude, Zipper, rude," Amaira sighs, but pets the brown leopard Appaloosa anyways.
The mare snorts two puffs in reply, tossing her head. Amaira rolls her eyes and scratches the mare's itchy withers.
"One of these days someone's gonna tell you no, and then where will you be, yah princess?"
The mare twitches her ears and trots away, rounding up the stragglers with some choice nips. Amaira glances over the herd, finding them all relatively normal, with one exception: a young mare, recently acquired, warrants a second look, Amaira's well-trained eye finding her antsy. She clucks her tongue as she slips down from the fence, parting the sea of warm brown bodies. The young mare fidgets even now, ears flicking back and forth.
"What is it, pretty? Feeling alright?"
The liver chestnut doesn't respond. Amaira purses her lips and clips a lead line to her halter.
"Tuck," she calls. The dog shoots out from his post and comes up behind the mare. "Headin' in, pretty."
She'd passed the mare off to Mr Appleby who had taken one look at the mare and frowned. Now, just before she's set to go home for dinner, she's stopped by to check on the mare once more. Mr. Appleby is perched on a stool inside the box stall, scratching at his chin.
"Everything all right?"
The man sighs."Doesn't look it. She's early, and I'll eat my hat if that foal isn't coming tonight."
"A foal! Tonight?"
"Wouldn't sound so hopeful. Best case this is gonna be messy. Worst case…"
Amaira's too excited at the prospect of a new horse to really hear what Mr. Appleby is saying.
"Should I fetch Tommy?"
He grunts. "Tell 'im to bring the foal kit with him."
Amaira bounds down the aisle, searching for him. Tommy comes in through the barn door just as a particularly nasty gust of wind howls through, snowflakes coming in with him.
"Tommy! Flit's having her foal!"
His eyes widen. "In this weather? She sure knows how to pick 'em."
"Mr. Appleby wants you to bring the foal kit on by. Did you finish your lot?"
He nods. "They're all in. Rugs on and everything."
"Oh, I can't wait! What color do you think it'll be?"
Tommy's brow creases. "Look, 'Mair, I know you're excited, but earlies tend to go pretty screwy. Might be best if you went home."
"Home? Why on earth would I go home? I'm staying right here to help."
He sighs, knowing by now that it's pointless to argue with her.
"Wow, the snow's really coming down out there."
Tommy glances at Mr. Appleby. "Think the vet'll even be able to make it out in this weather?"
The older man shakes his head slightly.
Amaira yawns."Do you think she'll start anytime soon?"
The birth is a disaster.
Two hours later a completely shell-shocked Amaira sits in the corner of the stall while Tommy and Mr. Appleby struggle to get the little guy to breathe. Her cheeks are wet with tears. This is nothing like she thought it would be. A whoop comes from Tommy as the tiny foal coughs and sputters his way into life. Mr. Appleby rubs him down fiercely, letting him get a good lungful of air before he scrubs his face. The poor little thing is exhausted, and flops over to pant in the straw after fighting to hang on for so long. Amaira makes the mistake of glancing to her right, and the still form of the foal's mother has her feeling sick all over again. There was just so much blood. Tommy drops his hands to his knees, puffing out a breath. Amaira can't even begin to comprehend how they're both functioning right now. All she feels like doing is curling into a ball and absolutely sobbing. She wants her mother. She wants to be told that it's okay. That Flit's just pretending. That that little baby hasn't come into this world only to find himself alone. She wants her mother. She wants her mother.
Mr. Appleby claps Tommy on the shoulder. "Good boy."
He stands up then, running a hand over his face. All this effort may have been for nothing. He glances out the window and curses. Nothing will be coming or going in this storm.
Tommy looks over at him questioningly then. "What are we-?"
"Don't." Mr. Appleby holds up a hand, "Just-" He snaps his hat off into the corner of the stall violently. The sharp thwack it makes against the wood makes the foal jerk his head up for a second before letting it flop weakly back into the straw. The stable owner runs a hand through his hair, tugging sharply at the ends. Tommy seems to sink in on himself, trying to look anywhere but at the foal and failing when it's all his eyes seem to find.
"Shit," he breathes, walking over and sinking down next to her.
"What?"Amaira croaks out.
"Has to eat doesn't he." Mr Appleby's reply is short, angry. "And we ain't got nothing for 'im."
Tommy's head hits the wood with a dull thud.
Amaira glances at the baby, "But... but he just got here…" she whispers.
Killian looks up from packing up his maps, hearing the catch in her voice.
"Sorry- I..." she chokes, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, clearing her throat.
He slowly walks over, watching her carefully all the while.
"'Maira what is it?"
"It was- God, it was one of the worst experiences of my life. I could hear her, just absolutely screaming, and I couldn't do a thing about it. She begged for it at the end." Amaira barks out a humorless laugh."Six years old an' I'm listenin' to a mare beg for death to come and take her already. And I couldn't say a word. Not a damn word. They were doing their best, but there was no way she was gonna make it. It was obvious. And heaven forbid someone found out about my powers," she snarls."I hate people. So quick to go and kill anything different."
Killian's brow furrows. "People didn't-"
"Oh, of course they did, Killian!"
"How old were you?" he asks quietly.
"16," she mutters.
Killian abandons packing, slipping behind her. She stares resolutely at the ceiling, but he can feel her pressing back against him.
"Told you, ugly bits myself."
She feels him drop a kiss on her shoulder.
"I just-" She grits her teeth and turns into him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
"I hate feeling helpless," she breathes against his skin, breath warm."Thank you," she murmurs, squirming closer.
After a moment of silence she exhales firmly.
"Right then, as I was saying…"
"We can't just leave him!" she cries, jumping to her feet, horrified at the idea.
"God, Amaira, what do you want us to do!?" Mr. Appleby shouts back.
"There has to be something, anything!" She's biting back tears again, kneeling down and cradling the newborn's head in her lap.
"There isn't! Don't you think we'd've done it by now if there was." He runs his hand over his face. "There's nothing we can do 'til tomorrow, and chances are he's not gonna make it. It ain't pretty, but it's the truth. Now get outta there. You'll only make it harder on yourself."
There's a clop of hooves as Tommy leads in a pair of collared drafts.
Mr Appleby sighs. "Tommy and I are taking the drafts out with…" he motions towards the body. "You goddamn sure better be outta there by the time I come back."
Amaira looks away as they drag Flit out.
"Poor baby," she whispers, stroking the foals cheek. "Poor, poor baby." The foal noses at her hand, grabbing a finger and giving a half-hearted suck, only to drop away listlessly when there's no milk. Amaira can't help it; she starts crying again.
There's gotta be something, someone who can help. Anyone! Just please, please save the baby.
Amaira's desperation leaves her shoulders shaking, choked back sobs leaving her mouth in hiccups that turn to whines as she rocks back and forth.
Please just someone hear me. We need help. He's going to die. Please!
A gust of wind whips through the barn and the other horses cry out in alarm. Amaira looks up as Tommy runs back in.
"You okay?" he pants. "There was just a huge gust o' something. Damn near took that tree in the pasture down!" He observes her curled around the foal.
"C'mon." He reaches down a hand. "You can't do this to yourself."
"I'm not-I can't leave him. Everyone else already has. I won't do it to him too."
Tommy sighs. "'Maira…"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Tommy looks towards the door questioningly.
"What the hell?" He walks towards it, then stops when he remembers her. "Stay here."
Tommy pulls open the big wooden door.
"The hell are you four doing out in this weather? Get in you dumb things!"
Amaira hears bleating and Tommy walks back down with four of Mr. Jacobson's dairy goats.
"Dummies were wandering around in the snow out there."
"Tommy what's taking so long? Where are-?" Mr. Appleby stops dead. "Where did all these goats come from?"
"Outside. Guess they must've gotten loose and lost in the storm."
"Well put 'em in a stall for tonight. We'll bring 'em back when the weather clears."
Amaira gets up then, running over to Mr. Appleby and clutching at his arm.
"Mr. Appleby…"
"What? What is it?"
"Mr. Appleby they're dairy goats." Amaira bites her lip and glances back toward the foal.
"Well I'll be." He snaps back into business mode. "Tommy I want those goats rugged and milked. Amaira go find and clean out one of them bottles, and bring some of the molasses."
Finally it's her turn to feed the baby while Mr. Appleby and Tommy doze on cots hung in the aisleway.
"C'mere little one. C'mere baby."
She waggles the bottle temptingly in front of the colt's nose. He staggers to his feet, wobbling after her as she leads him slowly around the stall.
"That's it baby. There you go."
The foal's black tail swishes back and forth as he nurses eagerly. He's a classic bay, with a star on his forehead and a sock on one of his back feet.
"Pretty baby aren't you? You all done?"
The foal releases the bottle with a pop, tottering back into the middle of the stall and flopping down.
"Night then baby, sleep tight."
Amaira heads out of the stall, rubbing her eyes. As she walks by the goats start bleating and Amaira turns.
"There yah are young'in."
"Almost thought we was going to have to do without you."
"We'd like a thank you, mind."
"Yes a thank you," the others chorus.
"Interrupted my beauty sleep for you I did."
"A thank you?" Amaira tilts her head to the side. "For what?"
"For what?"
"Did you hear her?"
"She said for what."
"For what?"
"We almost froze our hooves off for her!"
"Ungrateful."
"Young'ins these days."
"Shh, shh, shh there are people sleeping! Now what's all this about?" Amaira opens the stall, coming over and kneeling by the goats.
"You called."
"We came."
"Shouted more like it."
"Pleadin' away."
"So we's came a-running."
"Called? Whatever do you mean?"
"Crying you was."
"Over and over."
"Bout a little bitty old foal."
"And you pushed us mind."
"Didn't even give us a chance to decide to help."
"The nerve!"
"We would've, we was."
"We're civilized after all."
"But push push push."
"So we's came out just like you asked, an' now here we is."
Amaira's brow furrows. "You mean you heard me? All the way from your farm?"
The goats nod, two of them circling around before bedding down in the straw.
"Was that the wind then?" Amaira questions, head tilted to the side.
"Big ol' gust it was."
"Near blew us off our feet."
"Come now it said, all firm like."
"So we did."
"Young'in don't even know what she did!"
"Well I'm very sorry I made you all come out in such a storm, but you saved that baby's life. I can't thank you enough."
"Oh hush."
"We'd've done it just the same."
"Wasn't nothing really."
Amira yawns. "'M off to bed now. You ladies have a good night."
She stumbles over to her own cot, climbs in, and wriggles beneath the blankets. She's asleep not long after her head hits the pillow.
The foal is clearly Amaira's. After the first few feedings he refuses to nurse from anyone except her.
"You can't name him Baby!"
"And why not!?"
"Because he'll get confused! No horse's name is Baby!"
"I can name him whatever I want, Thomas!"
"Why not Star or something. Something more classic. He's a little fighter not a weakling!"
"And he's my little Baby!"
"He is not! He's a foal!"
Amaira's huffs. "Well let's ask him then!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
They each stomp to opposite ends of the stall.
"C'mere Star, c'mere!" Tommy bends over, patting at his thighs and clicking his tongue.
Amira rolls her eyes.
"C'mon Baby. Huh? You like that name? You like being called Baby?"
Amaira's smirks when the foal trots over to her, headbutting her affectionately.
"Aw of course he came to you, you feed 'im!"
Amaira's sticks her tongue out at Tommy."His name is Baby an' that's final."
Baby lasts all of two weeks at the stable. After that he's up and about, trotting after Amaira everywhere. After three escapes that have left Baby standing in the snow outside her house, Mr. Appleby makes the wise decision to let the little foal live with her. Amaira's mother is less than thrilled.
"He is not staying in this house!"
"Aw c'mon Mom look at him!" Amaira squeezes the foal under her arm. "He won't do nothing wrong!"
Amaira's mother shoots her a look.
"It's he won't do anything wrong, and horses do not belong in the house!"
"It's not for good! Just for a week 'til we get the barn built!"
"That's already one week too long! And how on earth are you going to fix that wreck up in just one week?"
"Mr. Appleby and Tommy are both comin' out, and the carpenter owes Mr. Appleby a favor."
"This is ridiculous."
"C'mon Mama, please! He'll end up freezin' otherwise!"
Amaira's mother runs a hand through her hair wearily before glancing back at her daughter's hopeful face.
"One week?"
"Oh thank you mother, thank you!"
Amaira abandons the foal to wrap her arms around her mother's waist.
It's certainly one very long week.
"Change the phrase to Baby in a china shop," Sarah mutters darkly, scrubbing at the spilled flour. There's a crash from the next room over and she sighs.
"AMAIRA!"
The girl bounds in, sheepish expression on her face.
"What'd he break?"
"Nothin'."
Sarah rolls her eyes.
"Just knocked something over, nothing's broke. 'M cleanin' it now."
"Baby no!"
"Amaira!"
"I knooooowwww."
The girl strides forward pointing at the ground.
"Drop it. Drop iiiiiitttt."
Sarah lunges for him and the colt wheels away, bolting into the next room.
Sarah screams in frustration.
"Baby!" Amaira cries in indignation, chasing after him.
Working in tandem, they manage to corner him in Amaira's room.
"Drop it!"
"Give it back you horrible creature!"
They both leap forward. Sarah snags the paper between his teeth triumphantly, only to give a disbelieving little gasp as the foal jerks his head back, effectively tearing the paper in question.
"Baby!"
Sarah sinks to her knees staring at the fragment of paper in disbelief. Amaira runs after the foal again.
At least the evenings are peaceful. Camped out on the rug in front of the fireplace, Amaira feeds Baby his nightly bottle. The foal is thankfully true to habit, and, as soon as the bottle's empty, he yawns, milk still clinging to his lips and settles next to Amaira, throwing his head carelessly into her lap.
"He's lucky he's cute," Sarah murmurs, not looking up from her stitching.
"You would have strangled him by now if he wasn't."
Sarah chuckles.
"How many designs did you end up losing?"
Sarah narrows her eyes. "I try not to think about it."
There's a comfortable pause in conversation interrupted only by the pops from the fire.
"'M gonna miss this," Amaira murmurs, combing her fingers through his forelock.
"Now you know how I feel," Sarah says dryly. She sighs. "You were the sweetest little baby. Quiet. Well, quiet for babies, hmm. Then you started walking." She exhales dramatically, an overly horrified expression on her face.
Not long after Baby's relocation to the barn, it starts to become apparent that a growing foal is going to need more milk than a morning's trip to the dairy farmer's can provide. The solution is simple. Why not just keep a goat on hand to meet the foal's ever growing demands? Thus Nana the nanny goat is subsequently acquired. Sarah, at this point, has given up on turning down Amaira's "strays." Amaira is of course thrilled with this development, and the once run down shack of a barn is soon bustling with life. A horse, a goat, three barn swallows, a family of mice, an owl, and one thieving magpie later Amaira's family is starting to take shape.
Sarah sighs when she hears the first clap of thunder. Not long now. Sure enough a minute later there's a hesitant knock on the door and a softly called "Mama?"
"C'mon in, baby."
The door opens and Amaira enters, pillow clutched tightly to her chest. She clambers into bed with her mother, wriggling into her embrace and hiding from the storm. Sarah runs her hand through her daughter's hair comfortingly. "Shh baby shh." Even now she can feel the slight trembles running through her daughter's small frame.
"You're safe. Mama's got you."
Author's Note:
Still alive. Huge thanks to my lovely betas don'tlikehugs18, Wolfspirit44, and DoeEyedDarling.
39 is written and should be up sometime in the next 2 weeks, and I'm currently planning out 42. Reviews fuel the muse.
Thanks for reading,
~TheSparkedInfinity