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wc: // 603Clingin' to insanity In hopes the world will ease up
Frodo was certainly interested to see that Io had her own horse. He was hardly surprised, of course, seeing as she probably loved animals, considering her rank. He'd already led his own horse, Strider, out. He was sort of the opposite of Neo. It didn't seem like he had many friends, and although he was grumpy and violent, liking to cause trouble, he was definitely not the leader of the herd. He thought of himself as dominant though, perhaps not even part of the herd. A sort of bad guy, was Strider, the outcast. It upset Frodo to see the stallion like that, but it was for the best. He happened to like a horse with personality; a horse with spirit and grumpiness was all the more interesting when it came to taming and riding the creature.
Frodo scooted over a little when Io came back in again. Together they managed to bring the mare to her side, and the wolf watched with wide eyes as her stomach heaved, her sides plastered with hair and sweat. It was obvious that the poor horse was in pain. He couldn't even begin to imagine what giving birth must be like. Or even carrying another life in your for a full on year, that would be hard. Gently, he caressed the mare's sticky neck, stroking it until it was soft and dry and relatively clean. When he pulled up his paw, it was sticky and matted with coarse hair. But he didn't mind. At least it had seemed to sooth the mare. What's the ol'girl's name? Frodo asked, still on his knees as he turned to ask Io the question. He then continued speaking, to the horse this time though, ushering soft words of calming and wisdom. He offered another stroke, this time on her nose, and then crouched upwards, waddling over to her rear end.
The foal was definitely coming. The horse was whinnying and shrieking in obvious turmoil. Frodo winced and pushed the mare's tail aside, a tad embarrassed when it came to looking at a horse's private area in detail, but doing what needed to be done anyway. He answered his own question about the wet cloths and stood up, grabbing some clean towels that hung up. He wandered behind the stables where a natural spring ran; so tiny it was often overlooked by most, and he drenched the towels in wam water.
The man ran back then, leaning over the horse once more, clearing away the hay around her rear end. He lay down some towels and then held the last one in his hands, open wide as if to catch a watermelon that'd fall from a sky, not a baby about to be born. He set about wiping the mud off the mare's hind legs, and no sooner than he had finished, he saw the start of something erupting from her. Oh my giddy, triangular aunt. he muttered to himself, breathless. This was so exciting. He was going to help birth a foal! He turned to Io and grinned widely, not afraid. Hey, do yer, do yer wanna do it? I can comfort her. he said. He had a knife just resting on the stall-wall when it was needed to cut the cord, but he didn't know too much about bringing the thing out. Almost regrettably, he handed Io the warm blankets. They were wet mainly to clean off the thing when it was born. He moved from his position behind the horse and scuttled to her front, which he bent down over, hushing the mare and stroking her powdery nose.