It's a mad scramble to make the next trolley so she can get over in a reasonable time, but she'll do it, free to take long strides and eager to see what's happening. A little windblown, by the time she gets down, with eyes bright and shining, curiosity and excitement pouring off of her in ways one doesn't even need to be psychic to catch. She knows the barn, so she'll check there first, looking for where the lights are on.
For once, Radar doesn't interrupt before Fever's done talking; he doesn't want to startle her and accidentally startle the horses in kind. Near a stall toward the middle of the barn, a lantern hangs from a nearby hook. Radar himself leans against the stall door to peer inside with an absolutely smitten expression.
It's easy to see why. Tucked next to Helga, long legs splayed as she gets used to the ground under her feet, stands a tiny foal that just barely comes up to her mom's belly. Her pale brown coat still looks a little rumpled from the work of being born. So do her mane and tail, short as they are; unlike her dad, they're almost the exact same shade as the rest of her.
Helga flicks an ear toward Fever as she approaches, then noses the white blaze down the front of her foal's face.
Coming closer, Fever's footsteps are soft, eyes wide as she beholds the new arrival. Joy and wonder rise within her, gazing and taking in every detail of the foal. She's perfect, and even cuter than Fever thought she might be, and in this exact moment she understands why Mortanne is so fond of horses.
"Hi," she says softly, not wanting to spook the little one. "We've been waiting to meet you."
Life, in the midst of all uncertainty, in a place where death remains unbalanced, where terror might descend. Life, nonetheless, persists. She will grow strong and well, because no one will allow it to be otherwise. Looking up to Helga, Fever grins.
"All that hard work finally paying off. You must be proud."
Helga huffs an equine snort, but as much as a horse can, she's radiating exhausted satisfaction. The foal chances a few wobbly steps closer to the stable door; Helga follows close enough for Radar -- and Fever, too, if she wants -- to stick out a hand to pet the mare.
"She's such a good mom already," says Radar, soft. He strokes Helga's nose. "Look at her, keepin' an eye out. You got a lot of different hard work ahead of you now, huh? We'll help. Don't worry."
Helga's foal watches Radar avidly the whole time he pets Helga. Okay. So the strange two-legged horses might be herdmates, too, if they're grooming Mama like that. (Even if they do look weird.)
Slow and careful, she pets Helga, hoping it offers some comfort. It's been a long and rewarding day, and the calm of night is no doubt a welcome after everything.
"Yeah. You won't have to do it all yourself. There's Radar, and me, and Edgar, and Danforth ought to pull his weight as a father."
And anyone else who comes out to see the new arrival, she's sure. Which will no doubt be a number of people once they hear the news, but they aren't here now to help out.
"When you feel like it, you can rest - you're both safe as can be."
Radar laughs a little. "Oh, yeah, Danforth's been ready to be a dad as soon as he knew Helga was even pregnant. I had to move him to a stall further out because he was about ready to kick the door down while she was laborin'."
Still cautious, the foal scoots closer to Fever. Maybe... maybe she can get groomed with Mama?
"He'll come back once these two're a bit more settled in."
"Probably just anxious about everything. It's never easy to hear someone you love in pain."
Looking down at the little one, she sees that hopeful expectation in her eyes, and then glances to Radar.
"Do you think that she'd..."
She'd have to open the door to be next to her, since she's so small, and it could be her misreading the situation. But Fever wants to, very badly - a quiet hope since she heard the baby was coming at all.
Careful, careful - no sudden movements to spook the foal, who is still probably processing the fact that she's alive at all. But she slips in, extending her hand so the foal can see it before she reaches to touch her. Soft, warm, and in this moment, the loveliest little thing Fever's ever beheld. The expression on her face says it all, if her mind isn't clearly full of wonder.
Congratulations, you made it.
A certainty, behind everything else - this is a first, memories or no memories.
Oh! Oh, that's different from how Mama grooms her. The foal startles back a little, but curiosity soon overtakes her again. It's... different. Neat.
Animals don't think anything like humans do, and mostly, Radar can't make any better sense of it than you'd get just from looking at their body language. But there is wonder radiating from Fever, and a sort of wonder from the foal, too, as two creatures meet over some shared newness. He settles a hand on Helga again, just to let her know he's still there. Nothing bad will happen.
What an amazing thing that's gotta be for Fever, too. Nothing bad will happen.
The foal presses her head into Fever's palm, quiet and trusting, and for a second Radar's so moved that his eyes well up.
Such honest faith in her, and that's enough to make her vision cloud, needing to take a breath, her heart aching from the way it makes her feel. Overwhelmingly fond, and even if the foal doesn't know the monumental moment this is, Fever does. Radar does.
Soft, a little choked:
"...thank you for this, Radar."
For notifying her, but also just letting her come and experience this.
Once, almost a whole year ago, Dahlia explained to Radar how that moment she rescued him in the woods -- using a shape made for violence to save his life instead -- made her realize she could be more than how her father made her. Being gentle to someone can help a whole lot. Radar's always known that. But giving them the chance to be gentle, too, especially when they don't always get that chance... well, that can help just as much.
He didn't really understand that until he turned up on the island. Until he met people like Dahlia and Fever. And he watches his friend now, as the foal nuzzles her hand, and hears himself think with such clarity: I don't know why I ever thought being gentle was a bad thing.
"Of course," he says, not a whole lot louder. "You were the first person I called. I knew how bad you wanted to meet her."
The foal abruptly sneezes. Radar breaks into a laugh.
Fever laughs too, as Radar's statement echoes in her head. You were the first person I called. The first outsider to meet her, her first impression of the outside world, someone who'd been eagerly waiting and hoping for her to take her first steps. And those eyes are full of trust, and, oh, even after these months, Fever can still have her feet simply lifted out from under her. It's that confusing tangle of too much and not enough, the ache of healing wounds, and the laughter shifts and turns, until she's crying, eyes too blurry to see the sweet face before her.
When it had first all been settling in after the ritual, she hadn't cried easily, body still reflexively holding tears down after so long. And then a bit after, it had come often and freely, body catching up to the delay. Even now, sometimes they feel too close to the surface, welling up and out without a cause that she can pinpoint. And here, here, she doesn't know if her tears will scare the baby, but she hopes not.
Oh, no, oh no, he wasn't expecting that to happen --
(They're good tears, mostly. He can tell that much even through the complicated jumble crowding up Fever's head. But... he's never seen Fever cry before, he realizes. Not once.)
The foal seems puzzled, but not particularly alarmed. She cranes her neck a little to try and sniff Fever's face before realizing she's too short, and settles for nudging her in the ribs instead. Helga puffs out a breath of concern before quickly settling again.
Radar opts for a more traditional comfort: he scoots close enough to Fever to put an arm around her shoulders, already pressing a clean handkerchief into her hand. Where'd it come from? Same place all of Radar's incredibly timely finds come from, apparently. At least it's not as surprising as him whipping out a clipboard from nowhere like he did pretty often at Town Hall.
Of course he has a handkerchief. That's the least surprising thing about all of this, actually. Her free hand tries to reassure the foal, while her shoulders shake. Still, the tears aren't harsh - it's only the rain, come to cleanse the air and coax new sprouts up from the soil. Not a storm, but a relief after the summer heat.
Still, she's a little embarrassed to be breaking down like this.
"Sorry," she whispers, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. "I don't...really know why I'm crying about this."
"Hey, no, it's okay," he says, kind as ever. "Sometimes that's the only thing you can do when there's a lot going on in your head, you know? The nurses back home cry over babies sometimes. Heck, I cry over babies sometimes too."
The foal makes her decision. If the strange two-legged herdmate is making odd noises, has water on her face, and isn't grooming her as much as before, that means it's her turn!
Which essentially means that the foal's started licking the highest point of Fever's shirt she can reach.
Laughter to tears brought back to joy - even as her emotions spill out of her eyes, the enthusiastic attempts from the baby keep her from too much sorrow. She'll be okay - there'll be more than just this time to see the little one. She'll grow, and Fever will see her the entire time, and slip her fruits when Radar isn't looking.
"What's her name going to be?"
She's still choked up, but she's breathing easier in the glow of friendship and honest care.
"You know, I dunno yet." He pats Fever's back a couple times, just to be extra-sure she's okay, before leaving the foal to do most of the reassurances. "I had some ideas if it was gonna be a boy -- "
(Like John, or Jay. Or Henry.)
" -- but not too many for a girl. Maybe we can put up a contest for naming her, we always had a couple of those at the state fair every year." A sudden grin. "Maybe we'll let her pick her own name!"
Her hands move to start petting the foal again, so she's doing alright - just processing her big feelings in a place where it's safe to do so. Honestly, this shirt can smell like horse breath forever if that's the tradeoff.
"How're you going to do that? Can you hear what she's thinking like you can with people?"
If one name in particular suited her fine enough and she liked it, would she just think it?
"No, not really," he admits. "Animals sound too different from people. They don't got the same words as us, you know? Or even the same feelings sometimes. If I listen too hard to 'em I just get confused."
His grin goes more sly.
"So I was thinking I'd write all the names on carrots, scatter 'em on the floor, and see which one she eats first."
"I'll consider your method the wisest if she's allowed to eat the other carrots afterwards. Seems cruel to deny her such bounty."
Makes sense, though, that animals would be so different. One needs spells to understand their speech, after all. Minds would be an entirely other matter.
"And I'm going to let Mother Mortanne know she's here. Might take her a while to get the message, but she'll definitely be glad to know about her." Easy enough to do. Perhaps when winter comes, with the message sent, she'll be able to see the foal for herself.
Radar laughs. "Oh, yeah, she'll get all of 'em plus extras. Picking your own name's a big deal! Almost as big as gettin' born in the first place, you know? She's gotta celebrate after she does it."
The foal turns a curious eye on him. Grinning, Radar obliges with an affectionate scritch through her stubbly mane... then pauses, eyes wide.
"Yeah," she says, taking another long and deep breath. Breathe in the summer air, breathe out whatever distressed her earlier. "I think she is. I haven't had a mom before to compare it to, though...I feel it in the same way that I feel Sheo's my father. Just somewhere inside."
Somewhere she can't really doubt it. Mother was never a tainted word, after all - but still, she always approaches the thought with shyness, a little wonder.
"I'm still me, though. It doesn't make any of that any different."
Radar wonders what that must be like, never having a mom and then suddenly having one. Only he doesn't have to wonder, really; not when he can hear that in Fever's head, like the soft, uncertain purr of a barn cat. It's kinda incredible. It doesn't even matter that it's Mortanne who's her mom now, which normally would make Radar's jaw drop. It's just another new, beautiful thing to behold, like a foal taking its first steps.
"'Course you're still you." He smiles. "How come you wouldn't be?"
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He's laughing, bright and joyful.
"You wanna come meet her?"
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It's a mad scramble to make the next trolley so she can get over in a reasonable time, but she'll do it, free to take long strides and eager to see what's happening. A little windblown, by the time she gets down, with eyes bright and shining, curiosity and excitement pouring off of her in ways one doesn't even need to be psychic to catch. She knows the barn, so she'll check there first, looking for where the lights are on.
"Radar? You in here?"
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For once, Radar doesn't interrupt before Fever's done talking; he doesn't want to startle her and accidentally startle the horses in kind. Near a stall toward the middle of the barn, a lantern hangs from a nearby hook. Radar himself leans against the stall door to peer inside with an absolutely smitten expression.
It's easy to see why. Tucked next to Helga, long legs splayed as she gets used to the ground under her feet, stands a tiny foal that just barely comes up to her mom's belly. Her pale brown coat still looks a little rumpled from the work of being born. So do her mane and tail, short as they are; unlike her dad, they're almost the exact same shade as the rest of her.
Helga flicks an ear toward Fever as she approaches, then noses the white blaze down the front of her foal's face.
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"Hi," she says softly, not wanting to spook the little one. "We've been waiting to meet you."
Life, in the midst of all uncertainty, in a place where death remains unbalanced, where terror might descend. Life, nonetheless, persists. She will grow strong and well, because no one will allow it to be otherwise. Looking up to Helga, Fever grins.
"All that hard work finally paying off. You must be proud."
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"She's such a good mom already," says Radar, soft. He strokes Helga's nose. "Look at her, keepin' an eye out. You got a lot of different hard work ahead of you now, huh? We'll help. Don't worry."
Helga's foal watches Radar avidly the whole time he pets Helga. Okay. So the strange two-legged horses might be herdmates, too, if they're grooming Mama like that. (Even if they do look weird.)
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"Yeah. You won't have to do it all yourself. There's Radar, and me, and Edgar, and Danforth ought to pull his weight as a father."
And anyone else who comes out to see the new arrival, she's sure. Which will no doubt be a number of people once they hear the news, but they aren't here now to help out.
"When you feel like it, you can rest - you're both safe as can be."
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Still cautious, the foal scoots closer to Fever. Maybe... maybe she can get groomed with Mama?
"He'll come back once these two're a bit more settled in."
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Looking down at the little one, she sees that hopeful expectation in her eyes, and then glances to Radar.
"Do you think that she'd..."
She'd have to open the door to be next to her, since she's so small, and it could be her misreading the situation. But Fever wants to, very badly - a quiet hope since she heard the baby was coming at all.
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Without answering -- at least, not in words -- he gives Helga one last, reassuring pat, then unhooks the lock on the stable door for Fever.
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Congratulations, you made it.
A certainty, behind everything else - this is a first, memories or no memories.
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Animals don't think anything like humans do, and mostly, Radar can't make any better sense of it than you'd get just from looking at their body language. But there is wonder radiating from Fever, and a sort of wonder from the foal, too, as two creatures meet over some shared newness. He settles a hand on Helga again, just to let her know he's still there. Nothing bad will happen.
What an amazing thing that's gotta be for Fever, too. Nothing bad will happen.
The foal presses her head into Fever's palm, quiet and trusting, and for a second Radar's so moved that his eyes well up.
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Soft, a little choked:
"...thank you for this, Radar."
For notifying her, but also just letting her come and experience this.
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He didn't really understand that until he turned up on the island. Until he met people like Dahlia and Fever. And he watches his friend now, as the foal nuzzles her hand, and hears himself think with such clarity: I don't know why I ever thought being gentle was a bad thing.
"Of course," he says, not a whole lot louder. "You were the first person I called. I knew how bad you wanted to meet her."
The foal abruptly sneezes. Radar breaks into a laugh.
"She wanted to meet you too!"
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When it had first all been settling in after the ritual, she hadn't cried easily, body still reflexively holding tears down after so long. And then a bit after, it had come often and freely, body catching up to the delay. Even now, sometimes they feel too close to the surface, welling up and out without a cause that she can pinpoint. And here, here, she doesn't know if her tears will scare the baby, but she hopes not.
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(They're good tears, mostly. He can tell that much even through the complicated jumble crowding up Fever's head. But... he's never seen Fever cry before, he realizes. Not once.)
The foal seems puzzled, but not particularly alarmed. She cranes her neck a little to try and sniff Fever's face before realizing she's too short, and settles for nudging her in the ribs instead. Helga puffs out a breath of concern before quickly settling again.
Radar opts for a more traditional comfort: he scoots close enough to Fever to put an arm around her shoulders, already pressing a clean handkerchief into her hand. Where'd it come from? Same place all of Radar's incredibly timely finds come from, apparently. At least it's not as surprising as him whipping out a clipboard from nowhere like he did pretty often at Town Hall.
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Still, she's a little embarrassed to be breaking down like this.
"Sorry," she whispers, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. "I don't...really know why I'm crying about this."
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The foal makes her decision. If the strange two-legged herdmate is making odd noises, has water on her face, and isn't grooming her as much as before, that means it's her turn!
Which essentially means that the foal's started licking the highest point of Fever's shirt she can reach.
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"What's her name going to be?"
She's still choked up, but she's breathing easier in the glow of friendship and honest care.
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(Like John, or Jay. Or Henry.)
" -- but not too many for a girl. Maybe we can put up a contest for naming her, we always had a couple of those at the state fair every year." A sudden grin. "Maybe we'll let her pick her own name!"
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"How're you going to do that? Can you hear what she's thinking like you can with people?"
If one name in particular suited her fine enough and she liked it, would she just think it?
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His grin goes more sly.
"So I was thinking I'd write all the names on carrots, scatter 'em on the floor, and see which one she eats first."
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Makes sense, though, that animals would be so different. One needs spells to understand their speech, after all. Minds would be an entirely other matter.
"And I'm going to let Mother Mortanne know she's here. Might take her a while to get the message, but she'll definitely be glad to know about her." Easy enough to do. Perhaps when winter comes, with the message sent, she'll be able to see the foal for herself.
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The foal turns a curious eye on him. Grinning, Radar obliges with an affectionate scritch through her stubbly mane... then pauses, eyes wide.
"Is Mortanne really your mom now?"
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Somewhere she can't really doubt it. Mother was never a tainted word, after all - but still, she always approaches the thought with shyness, a little wonder.
"I'm still me, though. It doesn't make any of that any different."
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"'Course you're still you." He smiles. "How come you wouldn't be?"
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