Part 1: The No Babbies Herd, part 1 (Fluffer_nutter62)
Part 2: The No Babbies Herd, part 2 (Fluffer_nutter62)
It’s dark but still so loud. The smell is building as the fluffies piss and shit themselves more and more. The purple dam heaves another hnnnng as a contraction hits. Her special friend, the smarty, doesn’t care about her or their too-soon babies. He’s too busy licking his seared flesh and demanding his special lumps back. All around her, her herd is crying and sobbing.
“B-babbehs nee stay in tummeh. Is too soon fo be chirpie babbeh.” She lets out a hardy scream as another contraction hits hard. It squeezes and squeezes and it feels like her special place is being ripped apart. Finally, another premature foal plops out. Immediately, driven by strong maternal instinct, she stands and wobbly turns around to inspect her newborn. It’s still until she begins to give it licky cleanies. Then, weakly, it’s limbs flail and a tiny peep escapes it.
Instantly the purple mummeh coos and brings the tiny thing to her teet. It’s got soft red fluff, fine and thin. Chirpie babbehs get cold so easily, but she knows to keep the tiny thing in her fluff, safe and warm.
It worms weakly against her teet. It’s lips brush the nipple but doesn’t clamp on. It’s born just old enough to breathe but still too soon to have a suckling instinct. Instead it peeps weakly and lays contentlu against the warm fluff.
“Babbeh nee’ miwkies… why nu dwink miwkies?”
The mummeh realizes something is terribly wrong. This isn’t her first litter, and she knows that chirpie babbehs should be loudly peeping and cooing happily as they knead milk from her milkie place. But this babbeh is refusing milk. Too small and quiet. Maybe it needs a mummeh song so it can learn to drink milkies?
“Mummeh wuv babbeh, babbeh wuv mummeh. Dwink miwkies an’ gwow big an’ stwong,” she sings to her dear babbeh. But the babbeh just breathes shallowly against her fluff. She continues to sing, loud enough to drown out her herd’s cries. But her little babbeh just breathes softly, refusing to drink. It doesn’t even peep or wiggle its limbs anymore. She presses it tightly against her milkie place and doesn’t even notice when the soft breaths stop.
“M-mummah wuv babbeh- huu huu- babbeh wuv mummah … d-dwink miwkies an’… Huuuu,” her song breaks into sobs. She lets go of the dead foal to cry into her hooves. The tiny body slouches and falls on it s side. All the time her contractions build, telling her to prepare for another foal. Eventually the pain becomes strong enough to forget her dead foal.
“Pwease be gud chiwpie babbeh… hnnng,” she pleads with her incoming foal. “Dwink da miwkies an’ gwow big an’ stwong.” She plops onto her belly, preparing to delivery her next foal. In between contractions she noses her dead foal.
“Sowwy fo’ be bad mummah… nu mean to…” But before she can finish her apology a final contraction hits and forces a tiny blue foal out. She vigorously licks the tiny body clean, as if that can make up for the premature birth.
Once the tiny blue foal shows signs of life, squirming and peeping, she presses it against her milkie place. It peeps and chirps, much more lively than his departed brother. But she is so desperate to have it feed that she ignores the weak flailing of the limbs as the foal struggls to breath around the flesh of her teet. It turns its head to breath, its underdeveloped lungs struggling as is. But the mummeh sees this as rejecting her milk and forces his face back against her flesh. Her heavy breast fills his mouth and doesn’t allow any air in. With one last tiny peep its lung finally give out, and he joins his brother.
It’s another twenty minutes before the mummeh realizes her last foal expired.
“Am wowstest mummeh ebew! Huuuu huuuu,” she cries and hugs her dead babbehs. She continues to labor and have contractions but all that is left is afterbirth and blobs of white paste that burned her womb. Her cries once again mix with the rest of her herd.
