p, Anann 
A black hand turned the page of the book slowly. Blue eyes scanned the picture that was revealed and he gave a small gasp before returning to the previous page. He reread it, and then reread it again when he had a question. The boy had read the chapter again and again about foaling, and he still wandered how Lumière would fare. Was she a maiden mare? Would she take longer then the average time that the text had told him? There were some questions that his low speech just could not form, and he was unsure how to even approach the soon to be mother with such an inquiry.
Rain pattered heavily on the stable’s roof, and so Alder had taken refuge beneath its shelter early in the day. He had found these books in the lofted area above the horses along with so other random articles that he had decided not to touch. But the books… Alder’s mind had consumed them immediately. Gently his large hands held the fragile and tattered beings, with the same care he would a newborn pup.
He sat outside the soon to be mother’s stall, legs stretched out in front of him and large foot paws crossed. The horses spoke, their calls nothing for the in-tuned male to fret over. Idle chat among neighbors, a stallion’s court of a mare and her blatant rejection. They were all things that the young male had come to understand and translate during his hours and hours among them. He had done so for days on end, night even. It had been just under a week since Alder had returned to his bed in Haven and Princess’ cabin. But there was only one voice that he constantly waited for, and while he stared at the illustration of a mare giving birth he heard it.
It was obviously pain riddled, and he clumsily found his feet and then stood stone still.
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