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With their chirpy on her back, Mulberry makes her way up the slope a step at a time, her special friend close.
It’s an earthy path with the occasional clumps of hay strewn about, resilient weeds growing from its sides.
Warm hanging lights illuminate their way up, guiding them to something much brighter.
Mulberry winces as she passes trough the doorway, a light gust of wind greeting her with smells of nummies, comfort and home.
Fluffies are playing, chatting, working. There are many of them, all a part of one big herd.
They pass a field of carrots, nummie-pickers already hard at work to pull the less then willing veggies out.
“Cawwot nummie come tu fwuffy nao!” a grey and green stallion demands, huffing in the plants direction to which it doesn’t move an inch.
Frustrated, he stomps his hoof.
“Cobbwe say NAO!”
He clamps his jaw around its greens and pulls with as much effort as he can, the vegetable slowly giving until it pops out, sending him rolling backwards with it.
Cinnamon can’t help but snicker to herself at the antics.
“Am goin’ to hewp wit’ nummies. Hab good wawkies speciaw fwiend.”
“Otay, wub yu.” Mulberry calls after her, passing the field.
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Each day it seems more tiring to take her daily walk.
She opts to give herself a much needed break beneath a tree, it’s discolored leaves swaying gently, shade and sunlight dancing playfully across the grassy ground.
With caution, she picks her foal off her back, placing him at her chest, her gaze drifting over his features lovingly as he leans into her embrace.
“Wub babbeh.”
The lilac chirpy scrunches his face, his belly growls with hunger.
Hoping to get to his mummahs milkies he kneads at her, nosing around in her fur to try and find a teat to latch onto.
*Chirp *chirp?
“Am babbeh hungwy? Mummah gib miwkies.”
Mulberry opens her mouth expectantly, guiding her baby to it.
With the smell of nummies is in the air and still no teat within reach, the chirpy grows increasingly more frustrated, chirping up a storm.
“Milkies wight hewe babbeh.” She tries, hugging him closer.
It doesn’t help.
Every other foal she has seen has happily taken to feeding the second they were born, this one didn’t.
*Chirp! *Chirp! *Chirp!
“Nu cwy…”
How is she supposed to feed him?
Then something crosses her mind. This isn’t a fluffy like her! This has to be a different fluffy baby. Of course he doesn’t know.
She looks down at herself, but teats won’t just magically appear when needed, she has to think of something else.
With careful motion she pours milk from her croup up into her mouth until her cheeks are full, then she lets a small drop of it form at her lips.
It has to work.
Sure enough, her little colt raises his face to meet hers, sucking the droplet in.
It’s a complex process of pushing just enough milk from her lips to keep him feeding but once she’s confident in her technique it fills her with content.
Being this close, face to face, only strengthens those feelings she felt the first time she laid her eyes on him, her baby, her little colt that came to her when she needed it most.
A sating meal later and it’s time for a bath, Mulberry making sure she stimulates him to go to the bathroom and cleaning him up afterwards.
He is so exhausted by that point that he falls asleep as she cleans behind his ears.
She nuzzles him, picks him up and places him on her back.
Something isn’t quite right.
Her stomach rumbles as hunger sets in, hunger pains creeping up her spine.
“Tummy babbehs nee’ nummies nao…” She tells herself, lifting her body up and steadying herself.
“Huuu…wai’ babbehs…”
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It feels like a black hole has formed in her tummy, pangs of hunger making her squirm with discomfort.
She wants to eat but what should she eat? What is she craving? Would it be safe for her colt to be in an actively harvested field? What if she dropped him by accident and he hurt himself?
Her though was disrupted by another pang of pain.
What about carrots? They just went by them so they were close? But… No, not in the mood for them.
“Huuuhu…”
What to do? What to do?
“Nu wowwy babbeh, mummah jus’ nee’ tu get some nummies an be back, otay?”
With the sleeping foal placed safely in a spot where it’s visible and shielded from the sun, she trots off hastily, the need for food taking over.
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Cobble would never ever ever harvest a carrot again. Not after he embarrassed himself like that.
Maybe trying something else might bring some luck.
Oh! And there it is!
He picks up the strewn about turnip.
Who in their right mind left this here? The crate is just over there to! It is strangely soft for a turnip but who cares. A job is a job.
He puts it with the others and skips towards the field, leaving the chirpy in the crate.
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Quiet, it is nice and quiet.
The rays of the sun sway gently, first to one side and then slowly back to the other trough crowns of lush trees.
A soft breeze dances across his fur making him sleepy and he yawns, curling himself a little tighter before relaxing his muscles again.
Beneath him is something cool and firm, something roundish.
It isn’t as nice as his mummah’s fur but it isn’t uncomfortable.
He chirps a few times, calling to his siblings but there’s no response, leaving him confused and feeling lonely.
Not able to do much else, he rests his head, waiting for his mummah to return.
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Mulberry Crumble races trough the field.
She had been so preoccupied with her hunger pains that, in her haste, she forgot where she had put her foal.
“Babbeh! My wittew babbeh!” She cries as she runs as fast as her heavily pregnant belly let’s her.
“Am bad mummah. Bad mummah! Huuu huuu”
It’s too much vor her and she collapses onto her rump, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Huuuhu!”
“That nu twue.” her special friend replies, walking up to her and stroking her back with one of her hooves.
“Wook, he’s ovah thewe”
She looks up and sure enough, just a little distance away, is their little colt, fast asleep inside a crate filled to the brim with freshly harvested turnips.
“Babbeh?” She says, dumbfounded.
“Yu nu nee tu wowwy su much, Muwbewwy. Yu awe gweat mummah, an yu nu nee tu watch him awone.” Cinnamon reminds her calmly, stepping in front so she can see her better.
“Am hewe tu yu kno.”
“Yu wight, Sowwy” she smiles slightly, her laid-back smile making her feel much more at ease.
“Nu need. Now wet’s gu take cawe ob ouw babbeh”
Cinnamon starts trotting over to the crate but something doesn’t sit right with Mulberry.
“Nu” she says abruptly, brow creased.
Her special friend turns her head in surprise as she walks over, inspecting the produce which her child lays on, the similarities between fluffy and vegetable striking.
“Babbeh is owd enough tu hab namesie an…” her face scrunches up in thought “…an namesie am Tuwnip.” she finalizes, smiling softly, pleased with her decision.
“Fittin’” her marefriend states, nuzzling her as they dote over him, letting him rest just a bit longer.
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“So, Turnip?” Bellamie questions while holding said chirpy in their hands.
“Yus!” Mulberry beams excitedly.
“He du be wookin’ wike one.” Cinnamon ads nonchalantly but the mischievous glint in her eye is hard to miss.
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” they muse, stroking Turnip’s mane. “Well then, Turnip it is.”
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