She shivered as she felt another form slip out of her body, wondering when it would finally be over.
“You’re doing so good Buttercup, you’re almost there.”
The yellow and white mare showed no reaction to her owners words, she merely sobbed as her body suffered another contraction as a forth form was pushed out of her.
Jennifer looked on with concern, Buttercup hadn’t said a word throughout the entire birthing process, no cries of ‘biggest poopies’, no desire to see her young, nothing at all but the occasional sobbing.
Not that Jennifer could blame her of course.
Buttercup had been assaulted in their back garden by three stallions, a bright cherry red Alicorn Smarty had violated her while his two brown Toughies took turns kicking, biting and shitting on Buttercup to further her humiliation, one of them twisted her front left leg so badly that it would later have to be amputated.
By the time Jennifer found the scene, the Alicorn had already finished his assault.
“Hehe, dummeh mawe nyo hab wingie-pointy tummeh-babbehs, yu am wucky. Hoomins wub wingie-pointy babbehs, wingie-pointy’s am bestesh Fwuffies.”
Those would be the stallions final words as Jennifer took a cast iron pan and used it to cave his skull in, bursting out blood and bone from all directions as the heavy metal instrument crushed the attacker. She would then turn the utensil onto his two associates, using the heft of the pan to send one flying into the brick wall between her and her neighbours property, and near enough bisecting the other with the edge of the pan.
Buttercup was never the same afterwards, her physical injury meant she would struggle to run and play as much as she used to but her emotional trauma meant she never even tried to. The playful little mare that Jennifer loved so much was gone, now she a broken shell, rarely moving from her bed, talking even less, never fully falling into ‘wan die’ but Jennifer could see her being tempted by its call.
The unavoidable pregnancy was made even worse by Buttercup’s forced silence, Jennifer had long been told that sexual assault was unfortunately common in Fluffies but that trauma was usually bypassed by the mare’s immediate acceptance of her new tummy-babies. But Buttercup never showed any feelings to her brood, she never sung to them, never asked for more food to help them grow, but she never cried at them, never screamed or shouted or hated them for their existence. Once Jennifer asked Buttercup if she wanted the tummy-babbies to ‘go away’, but Buttercup didn’t give her an answer one way or other.
4 painful weeks later, and they were here, Buttercup silently passed her fifth and final foal followed by a splash of amniotic fluid as her body was returned to its regular state. Jennifer paused for a moment, waiting to see if Buttercup would move towards her newborn litter, but the yellow mare simply lay there, sullen and sad.
“Buttercup? Do you want to see your babies?” Jennifer asked, hoping that maybe seeing them would trigger some form of response in the mare.
With a heavy and tired head, Buttercup turned around to look upon her litter. The five foals measured three colts and two fillies, two of the colts were Alicorns, as was one of the fillies, the other colt was a unicorn and the other filly a Pegasus. Their colours were decent, a healthy mixture of reds, yellows, oranges and whites, all in all what should’ve been a perfect set of healthy foals in better circumstances.
But these were not better circumstances, and Buttercup did not look upon her foals with care and admiration, but instead with tear stained eyes and a trembling gaze. It was then that Jenifer understood.
Buttercup would never hate her foals, her maternal instinct wouldn’t allow her to, but given the horrific start to their lives, she could never find it within herself to love them either. She wanted to love them, but seeing them all just made her remember what had happened to her.
Jennifer sighed, she should’ve seen this coming, should’ve been more decisive and done something before they reached this point. Fluffies don’t stop talking, so clearly something was wrong when Buttercup didn’t say more than two words for weeks. But she had been misinformed, misguided and misplaced in her hope that Buttercup would be herself again.
“Buttercup? I’m going to take some milk from you to feed the babies, then I’m going to take them away, you’ll never have to see them again.”
There was a flash of something across Buttercup’s face, something Jennifer couldn’t recognise, was it relief, hope, ambivalence, fear? Whatever it was it was gone before she could make it out and replaced by Buttercup’s regular frown and a slow nod before the yellow mare lay down and twisted her body, allowing Jennifer easy access to her teats.
The mood was silent between Fluffy and owner as Jennifer filled a spare baby’s bottle with Buttercup’s milk and used that to feed the five foals. They were all cold, scared and hungry, but Jennifer gave them a little bit of comfort, using a warm cloth to clean them and giving each other a little bit of milk to keep them going until they reached a shelter.
In all honesty she pitied them, it wasn’t their fault they came from such ugly beginnings. Thankfully it would still be a few days before they opened their eyes, if the shelter found them a surrogate mother before that time then at least the foals would feel a little bit of love.
With all five foals fed, Jennifer placed the sleeping infants into a plastic container she had spare and lined with a blanket. As she stood up the box felt surprisingly heavy, weighed down by her guilt of not doing enough for Buttercup.
“I won’t be long Buttercup, when I get back it’ll just be me and you, and I promise you, I’ll do better this time.”
Jennifer gave Buttercup a small, soft stroke on her head before she left, taking the foals with her and leaving behind only silence. A silence broken by sobbing.
“Huuu, am sowwy babbehs, am wowstesh mummah.”
Buttercup curled up into her bed and cried, she cried for the pain inflicted on her by that monster stallion, she cried for the agonising 4 weeks she had been pregnant, every torturous day a reminded of her attack. But mostly she cried for her babies, she thought her mummah taking them away would make it better, that she could feel free of this hurt inside her once they were gone.
She was wrong, the hurt only got worse as the guilt ate away at her. Had someone been there they could’ve told her that it would get better, that she did the right thing letting her children go to someone who could give them the love she couldn’t.
But there was no one else, there was just a sad yellow mare, sitting alone with her broken heart.
added those ferals word and abuse got into her mentally too.