This chapter features a fantastic illustration by @ChartreuseShroom. Feel free to Check out Hazel and Creature.
Emrys’ herd were all tucked into their nest boxes in their stalls, fast asleep and dreaming, oblivious to the human drama unfolding in the forest and fields beyond the safety of their barn.
Like the others, Hazel slumbered, snuggled against her special friend. The steady cadence of her breathing stopped suddenly and her eyes flew open as the painful inner squeeze of a cramp gripped her from within and pulled her from her dreams. Awake and confused by the dampness she felt soaking her fluff and the nest material beneath her, Hazel thought she’d made bad sleep time pee-pees. When the next contraction came, it hurt so much she could hardly breathe. She had the wowstest tummy huwties! Tears sprung to her eyes. It felt like there was pressure building inside her, like she had to make poopies but couldn’t. It swept over her in waves, relaxing and then hurting, only to repeat.
Unable to catch her breath enough to speak, she tried to use her forehooves to shove Gossamer enough to wake him but her immobility prevented her from reaching anything other than her own gravid sides. She could only wiggle and peddle her limbs in futility. Maybe that would wake him?
Sadly, it was not to be. Gossamer snorted and rolled to the opposite side of the nest. “Nu make fwuffy wakies, mummah. Stiww sweepies,” he mumbled before went back to sleep.
“G-Goss… Hab… hab… B-bigges’…” She couldn’t raise her voice above a strained whisper or even finish what she was about to say due to the discomfort. She couldn’t announce the birth that was coming. The only thing she could do was tense herself and ride out each wave of pain. Her special place felt like it was slowly being torn apart from the inside. Agony muted her attempts to scream to little more than a hoarse rasping. She gritted her teeth so tightly it felt as though they might break, exhaling a whine through flared nostrils. Something inside her moved in a way she’d never felt before. It twisted and squirmed inside of her. Why were her tummy babies giving her the biggest owwies?
Thanks to the pain and growing fear, Hazel started to panic and hyperventilate, fouling her nest with a burst of scaredy poopies. She swung her head wildly, straining, when she became aware of something enormous entering her nest box. From the shadows cast by the barn’s nightlight system, a shape approached and drew nearer until she could make it out clearly. Terror gripped her heart.
“M-munstah.” She gasped breathlessly as a new wave of panic overtook her.
The large earthie stallion certainly looked like one. He had no fluff and so many pale scars criss-crossed his body it made him look like he’d been shattered and sewn back together. His muzzle was twisted and wrong, and his watery eyes were white.
“Nu am munstah. Am Cweatuwe,” the stallion replied with a sonorous voice.
Creature didn’t really live or work with the rest of the herd, only ever infrequently visiting and only ever during the dark times. He had a special place in the loft where he stayed by himself. Moon said it was because Creature felt like a monster. He certainly looked like one. Now, that hulking, hideous visage was lumbering close to Hazel’s nest and watching her. A fresh wave of panic started to sweep over her.
The deformed stallion looked down at Hazel, then at the still-sleeping Gossamer. Creature lowered his head close to the mare’s and spoke. “Swow, deep bweffs, Hazew. Smeww-pwace bweff in. Tawkie-pwace bweff out. Wike dis.” He took a slow, deep breath in through his nose and then exhaled. “Wike dat. Nao 'ou.” Hazel breathed a few more times, wincing each time another wave of pain came, but she found it was helping, especially if she fixed her attention on Creature. When her panic and her breathing had both calmed, Creature turned away and looked over his should. “Good. Just wike dat. Nu stop. Cweatuew get 'ou hewp.”
She nodded and kept up the breathing exercise while Creature slipped from her stall, disappearing into the barn beyond.
That was how Garlic and Ginger, twins and two of the eldest mares on the farm, found her. Once they managed to wake Gossamer and chase him from the nest, the pair of fluffy midwives immediately went about the work of guiding Hazel through her first foaling. By then, she’d finally found her voice after rounds of gasping, pushing, panting, and straining and the screaming began.
“SCREEEEEEEE! <gasp> FWUFFY ENFIN’ CWIST! <wheeze> SCREEEeeEEEEeeeEEE!”
She managed to wake half the herd with the noise. Some had rolled over and gone back to sleep while others stumbled blearily from their nests to see what the fuss was about. When they peered into Hazel’s stall, it all became pretty obvious. By then, the worst of the ordeal was over and Hazel had given birth to a litter of six. The stallions who’d groused over having been woken up prematurely stilled their tongues. They were tired, but it was always a happy occasion when new babbehs were born. The mares swooned and cooed and fussed over the newest litter in the barn.
Garlic and Ginger, satisfied that their work was done, waddled from the stall to let the new mummah give her babbehs their first lickie-cleanies while their daddeh helped his special friend in welcoming their foals to the world. Most of Hazel’s offspring sported shades of red or green, like their parents, but one foal stood out from the rest. The sixth of her foals to be born was a bright pink. Its birth had also been the most taxing. The new mummah licked each of them affectionately, one by one. She had green babbehs that looked like her, red babbehs, that looked like their daddeh, and one pink babbeh that…
“Bad babbeh,” Hazel announced, wrinkling her nose at her pink foal.
The celebration among the barn fluffies ground to a halt and a collective gasp went through the assembly. Perturbed murmurs started to spread. This wasn’t the first time a mare had announced a bad babbeh. Runts were fairly commonplace, after all. Sometimes, though, rejections occurred for other reasons. Hazel had never had foals before and her status as a mummah was in question. Would she love her babbehs equally or would she ostracize any who didn’t meet her ideas of a good babbeh? Would she choose a bestest?
The herd had seen bad mummahs before. When their smarty friend passed that judgement upon a mare, Emrys would usually take her to the bad fluffy barn and she’d never be seen again. Hazel’s pink babbeh was so pretty. Was it really a runt or was Hazel being a bad mummah? The gossip and speculation began in earnest before a fluffy broke away from the group to wake up Moon and inform him of the situation. Moon, in turn, woke Zombie and Igor and, together, the trio made their way to Hazel’s stall. The assembled fluffies parted to allow them through. All murmurs ceased and a deathly silence fell. Gossamer sidled a little closer to his special friend, worry written across his face. He knew what was on the line.
Moon approached Hazel and looked down at the fluffpile between her forelegs. He turned his head and looked at her pink foal, who lay neglected a short distance away. “Moon heaw Hazew hab bad babbeh,” he stated plainly, watching the mare closely for her response.
Hazel said nothing but nodded hesitently and lowered her gaze to the squirming, pink chirpie. It was bigger than any foal Moon could remember seeing, easily twice the size of its siblings. It wriggled and squirmed about by itself like a fat pink worm.
Moon, Zombie, and Igor all took turns lowering their snouts to the foal, sniffing at it. The two toughies shared a look of confusion.
“Zombie nu undewstand. Dis babbeh smeww gud. Why am bad?”
“Nu knu,” remarked Igor. “Babbeh smeww fine tu Igow.”
The pair looked to Moon, who remained silent. Theirs weren’t the only pairs of eyes on him. Many watched as Moon scented the pink foal, paused, then walked past it and lowered his snout to the fluffpile of Hazel’s other foals. Once he’d sampled the scents of both, he sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes in silent deliberation with himself. The tension among the gathered fluffies could be felt in the air. The two toughies had already judged Hazel’s pink babbeh as smelling good. It wasn’t looking good for the young mare, but Moon had yet to deliver his verdict.
Hazel, Zombie, and Igor weren’t wrong. There was some different about this foal’s smell. It didn’t smell like a runt but it didn’t smell like its siblings, either. It was subtle but different. Zombie and Igor couldn’t tell the difference but Moon suspected Hazel could smell it the same way he could. He tried to recall where he’d smelled something like it before. Then it came to him. It was similar to the scent of the mare in the clinic that Dylan had brought to their farm. A dummeh sort of smell.
“Dis babbeh smeww diffewent fwom othew babbehs, but Moon think dis babbeh nu am bad,” Moon finally proclaimed.
He could feel the tension mount. They were all waiting for him to pass sentence on Hazel as either a good or bad mummah. These were the moments in which he hated being the herd’s smarty friend. Moon picked up Hazel’s pink foal and carried it closer to her, setting it down near the fluffpile. “Moon think dis babbeh has thinkie-pwace huwties. Huwties make babbeh nu smeww wike othew babbehs. Hazew nu knu huwtie-babbeh smeww. Gib babbeh miwkies, huggies, an’ wub,” he said to Hazel. “Mistah Emwys wiww come in da bwight time an’ hewp babbeh.”
Hazel sobbed audibly, partly in sorrow and partly with relief. Gossamer looked saddened but held his tongue. He pressed against his special friend’s side to comfort her. “Nu cwy, speciaw fwend. Am nu 'ou fauwt.”
Moon nodded in agreement with Gossamer. “Gossamew am wight. 'Ou nu am bad mummah. ‘Ou nu am bad daddeh. Moon hab biggest heawt-happies fo’ ‘ou an’ babbehs.”
“Mummah sowwy, pink babbeh.” Hazel cooed, picking up her fat pink foal and pressing it to her teat, letting it nurse while she crooned her mummah song.
With Moon’s decision delivered and Hazel’s status as a good mummah verified, the tense situation had been resolved and the weight in the air dissipated “Fwuffies gu back tu nesties. Get gud sweepies. Hewd have wowk tu du in bwight time.” He ordered, dispersing the still present fluffies before looking over his shoulder at Hazel. He was glad that was over. All that remained now was to tell Emrys about things when morning rolling around. That was a concern for tomorrow, though. Moon was eager to get back to sleep.
Once everyone had returned to their stalls and nests, Moon did a final walk around the barn to make sure all fluffies were accounted for and settling down before returning to his own bed. Finally, he could get some much-needed sleep. However, the sweet embrace of dreamland was pushed further away when he found Creature waiting for him in his stall.
“Hewwo Cweatuwe.”
“Hewwo Moon. Cweatuwe wan tawk with 'ou.”
Moon walked past Creature and climbed into his nest, turning around a few times before laying down and resting his chin on the edge of his nest box so that he could face his guest. “Wha 'ou wan tawk about?”
“Wha 'ou think Mistah Emwys du with pink babbeh if am dummeh?”
“Moon nu knu. Maybe can hewp babbeh ow maybe have tu give babbeh fowevew sweepies.”
“If Hazew an’ Gossamew nu wan babbeh an’ Mistah Emwys nu give fowevew sweepies… den Cweatuwe wan be babbeh’s nyu daddeh.”
Moon raised his head slightly and gave Creature a long, hard look. “Why Cweatuwe wan babbeh?”
“Cweatuwe nevew have speciaw fwend. Nu mawe wan munstah speciaw fwend. Dat am otay with Cweatuwe. Cweatuwe wan twy tu be daddeh. Twy be gud daddeh fo’ babbeh.”
Moon had known Creature since Emrys rescued him. He’d seen the charred and twisted near-corpse they’d found and nursed back to health. Creature was right, of course. Given his appearance, there probably wasn’t a mare alive that wouldn’t be either intimidated or terrified by the way he looked to even consider him as a potential special friend. His request for a foal was something new, though. He had to ask. “If 'ou have babbeh, wha 'ou do?”
Creature sighed deeply. “Cweatuwe nevew have own babbehs. Wan babbeh fo’ huggies an’ wub an’ pway. Teach babbeh tu be good fwuffy. Cweatuwe wan feew wike daddeh.”
Moon nodded his head. “Moon undewstand. Nu wowwy Cweatuwe. Wiww tawk tu Mistah Emwys. But 'ou need undewstand babbehs am hawd wowk. ‘Ou wan be daddeh, den ‘ou need undewstand daddehs give up wots fo’ babbehs. Nu mowe dawk-time wakies. Nu mowe bein’ awone. Fiwst, ‘ou do wha babbehs need an’ nu wha Cweatuwe wan.”
Creature pause and hesitated, meeting Moon’s gaze while the smarty friend scrutined him. Moon had put it bluntly. He couldn’t just adopt a foal because he wanted to feel what it was like to be a father. He had to commit. If he didn’t Moon and Emrys would both be on his ass. The entire herd would likely join them.
“Cweatuwe?” Moon prodded, waiting for an answer.
“Cweatuwe knu. Fo’ babbeh… Cweatuwe twy an’ join hewd.”
