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Description
Lyra Aquarii & her asyet unnamed twins, A234 & A235
t h e • s t o r y ;
Lyra snorted hard, tossing her long forelock from her face. Rain slicked down her body, pressing her mane against her neck and face and dragging the pale hair through the mud as she walked. Or, actually, waddled. Her belly was swollen wide and hung low giving her an awkward waddle as she moved. Walking was exhausting on a nice, clean and dry day. Today, in the rain, it wasn't so easy.

Breathless she shoved her head between the swirling viney branches of a massive, ancient willow tree and waddled in away from the storm as thunder boomed and lightning crackled. "It is just my luck," she huffed and puffed at her stomach as she tugged the vines back into place behind her, "that you decide to be born on the biggest storm-night of the year." She groaned as another contraction seized her and she dropped to the ground. Just her luck!

Soft snorts, little nickers. Lyra turned her head to stare down at the twins beside her with an expression that was a mix of adoration, confusion, horror and pride. Her bald daughter sneezed, shaking her head before settling back down to curl tighter with the pale brother. Twins. Lyra wasn't sure how she felt about that but the little ones were too precious to be unhappy. Just what would mother say about this? She reached down and nibbled the fluffy mane of her son before returning her attention to watching the storm.

Whatever the herd would say about it, she knew her little ones would be an interesting set of forces. Things born in storms usually did turn out more powerful than they might have on any other night. Her pumpkin and night eyes glared at the world beyond the quivering, rain-pattered limbs of the willow tree in which she took shelter.

w o r d • c o u n t ; 303

Description
Lyra Aquarii & her asyet unnamed twins, A234 & A235
t h e • s t o r y ;
Lyra snorted hard, tossing her long forelock from her face. Rain slicked down her body, pressing her mane against her neck and face and dragging the pale hair through the mud as she walked. Or, actually, waddled. Her belly was swollen wide and hung low giving her an awkward waddle as she moved. Walking was exhausting on a nice, clean and dry day. Today, in the rain, it wasn't so easy.

Breathless she shoved her head between the swirling viney branches of a massive, ancient willow tree and waddled in away from the storm as thunder boomed and lightning crackled. "It is just my luck," she huffed and puffed at her stomach as she tugged the vines back into place behind her, "that you decide to be born on the biggest storm-night of the year." She groaned as another contraction seized her and she dropped to the ground. Just her luck!

Soft snorts, little nickers. Lyra turned her head to stare down at the twins beside her with an expression that was a mix of adoration, confusion, horror and pride. Her bald daughter sneezed, shaking her head before settling back down to curl tighter with the pale brother. Twins. Lyra wasn't sure how she felt about that but the little ones were too precious to be unhappy. Just what would mother say about this? She reached down and nibbled the fluffy mane of her son before returning her attention to watching the storm.

Whatever the herd would say about it, she knew her little ones would be an interesting set of forces. Things born in storms usually did turn out more powerful than they might have on any other night. Her pumpkin and night eyes glared at the world beyond the quivering, rain-pattered limbs of the willow tree in which she took shelter.

w o r d • c o u n t ; 303