A RP for Soul, Novii and Star-sama < 3
Amerlei's pregnancy had gone fairly smoothly. Well, as smooth as one could go with three babies kicking at your insides! They slowed her down a bit, but nothing unbearable. It wasn't like she could use her wings, anyhow, so she didn't miss the sky.
Plus, with the foals in tow, she was with her mate, Ciardha, 24-7. A fantasy in itself.
Sure, her teepee-brother, Tavarii, said she was a pain in the hindquarters, but what did he know? He was her brother. Pretty much family. And families usually didn't get along, at least not siblings...right?
Even her foaling had gone well; no complications, not even when they tucked all three of their babies into like-colored baskets.
Now the white mare was sprawled on the ground on her side, soaking up the sun's rays. Her 'bundles of joy' had grown strong enough to hop from their baskets that day and she'd overlooked it with keen, motherly eyes.
Now they were playing in the field, in her field near home. When they were old enough, she wanted to take them there, with Cia, to let them meet her parents. But until then, she was relaxing and enjoying this.
Having children taught her something -- she needed to learn how to use her wings... She was just glad that the spitfire of the trio was Grounded.
Faded gold hooves splashed through a newly-formed mudpuddle, darkening them and splattering the white stockings that ran up to her knees. The filly cast the mud a naughty grin and reared up, kicking up brown, wet smush everywhere.
Soon, even her white and gold streaked mane was drying with splotches of dirt in it. She dislodged them as she tossed up her head and went on the lookout for one of her two brothers. Or both of them. That worked too.
Ame was the more curious, the more naive of the trio; and he had their momma's wings! That alone gave her incentive to tease him.
Her other brother, Cainneach, had a hard-to-pronounce name. Cainneach... Cayn-ekk. Cayn-auch. Cayn. Cain it was. He took after their father.
And Anansi? Anansi was a trickster, a punk. Or so she liked to think. A delicate filly with pretty silver swirls on the outside? A clever little demon on the inside.
Her little bob of a tail flicked as she slipped, nearly fell, and regained her balance, all within seconds of each other. And she kept trotting.