The night was going to be a long one. During Moira's evening rounds of checking in on the animals she noticed one of the pregnant mares looked a little unusual. Upon further inspection she realized the mare was going to have her foal that night and the witch could not go to bed when she had previously planned. After separating her from the others into an adequately sized pen she went back to the cottage.

Before she reached the house her friend Ambrose came to mind. No doubt he would love an experience such as this. However, it was a late Monday evening a little after eight and he did have work the next day being a trainee beast handler. Still, she could send the invitation and accepting it or not would be up to him. Pulling out her wand she focused for a moment before sending her Patronus, a black bear, off with the message:

“Ambrose, I hope this finds you well and not in an awkward situation. One of the mares is foaling tonight and I thought maybe you'd like to help.  The floo is open if you do.”

Inside the cottage her dad was in the living room while her uncle had already retired to his bedroom. “Ambrose Pepper might be coming so you know. Cerys is having her foal tonight.” With that summary of what to expect she moved about the cottage gathering anything that might be necessary while her dad looked on after her before back to the news.

Moira had finished putting everything together for a worst case scenario, though she anticipated a smooth delivery, when the fire crackled a bit differently causing her to look over.

Ambrose was just settling Juni’s alpaca in the paddock for the night after a long walk when a great light formed beside him. The alpaca skittered off in fright as it grew to a great bear patronus.
“Woah!” Ambrose exclaimed, dropping the headcollar he’d just released.

“Ambrose,” the bear spoke, strangely in Moira’s voice, “I hope this finds you well and not in an awkward situation.” The former Gryffindor fifth year gaped. He’d not seen patroni up close much in his life, and especially not recently, or conjured by old classmates. “One of the mares is foaling tonight and I thought maybe you’d like to help. The floo is open if you do.”

“Hell yeah!” Ambrose exclaimed at the bear, “Oh! I can’t reply, can’t do a patronus! Tell her I’ll be there!” He called after the whisps of the patronus as it vanished. He stumbled forwards to head to the house, and caught his foot in the headcollar and rope, catching himself before he face-planted. “Sod it. Laters Wakka!” The young wizard called to the four-legged beast as he ran to the house, headcollar over his shoulder.



—



His dad and Gabrielle had just about followed his gabble as he hurried through the house, grabbing his coat (because it’d get cold on a long August night), wand (even though he wasn’t allowed to use it for another forty days, as he waited to turn 17 in mid-September), and a pocketful of whatever was to hand in the kitchen (Imp protesting).

“But you’re on nappy duty next!” Tim protested beside the floo fireplace.
“I know mate, I know, but winged horse foals.” Ambrose told his younger brother, ruddy-cheeked. “I need it for my job, Tim,” the older Pepper claimed, and appealed to his brother’s Ravenclaw ways, “for study.” Tim rolled his eyes and sighed.
“You’re on it all night tomorrow then.”
“Alrigh’.” Ambrose agreed, clasping his brother’s hand in a gesture of solidarity, even though what came out of baby Amelia into her nappies was anything but solid.
“Just don’t wake her up when you get back in,” their father requested from the doorway, “and don’t take any risks.” Ambrose saluted, dipped his hand into the floo powder and threw it into the flames.
“The McBoid Cottage!”



—



Ambrose stumbled out into the familiar fireplace in Scotland a moment later, dusting off his coat and beaming.
“Hello!” He greeted enthusiastically, bouncing on their rug, “I got your message!”

Moira smiled as Ambrose exited their fireplace and onto their rug with an exuberant greeting. “Aye, that's good. Welcome.” It appeared her message had been met with no small amount of excitement. From what she could see he was practically quivering with it.

Rising briefly, Angus gave the young man a smile and a greeting as well upon his arrival. He went back to reading his book soon after, though, leaving them to it. Newborn foals were more important than the old dad after all.

Moira invited Ambrose further into the cottage to where she and the supplies were. “Most of this we won't need but I'd rather have it just in case.” While they were on the subject she gave him a quick summary of what everything was and what they were used for. “We'll go ahead and give her the mash though. It will help her relax and start healing after the foal's born.”

Ambrose was wearing his jacket, that was good. If it took a long time and the cold became more pervasive she could use a warming charm on them both. “I'll warn you, it could be a long wait. Depends on Cerys.” She could either foal early in the night or very early in the morning. It was difficult to tell until it happened.

The witch smiled at him again. “Ready to go meet her?”

Moira greeted him with similar enthusiasm, though Ambrose couldn’t help but notice this was more ordinary for her, and she might be humouring his enthusiasm. Angus greeted him from behind a book, seemingly not joining them.
“Hello Mr McBoid!” Ambrose greeted, and then added, “Angus… sir.” He never quite knew what to say now he was meant to be a proper adult. It was his encounter with Neville-legend-Longbottom all over again.

He followed Moira attentively, nodding along sagely to her explanations of the materials. He leaned over to tentatively peer at the ingredients for the mash.
“… it could be a long wait…. Ready to go meet her?”
“Heck yes,” Ambrose replied, dismissing the issue of a long wait. He could entertain himself if necessary, but he hoped he and Moira might be able to chat for a bit about things. They’d not seen each other since the wedding.

He remembered the cottage and the layout of the buildings well from the time he’d stayed with the McBoids a previous school holiday. He helped Moira scoop up all the materials and carry them out to the stables, a smile unable to leave his face despite the fact they had work to do. He lapsed into the attentive apprentice he was at work in the Ministry, listening intently and asking  thoughtful questions, such as “Is this her first?”

“This will be her second. The first one went well though that foal was a little smaller than this one seems to be.” Again, Moira didn't think there would be any issues but she'd rather be there and know for sure. She had chosen the stud last year and felt more responsible than normal.

“We have one more late year foal we're expecting though not for another month. The rest will be born in the spring.” Having newborns in the colder months was more difficult; food wasn't as abundant and the animals could get chilled if not careful. There were benefits though. The winter foals tended to be more hardy.

The walk to the enclosure was relatively short when compared with the walk to reach the unicorn. Moira smiled when the mare turned to look at their approach, ears forward. She let Ambrose in before her then closed the gate behind. “Ambrose, meet Cerys. It means fair love. Go ahead,” Moira nodded giving him permission to pet her and say hello.

Ambrose was soon faced with a towering mare with folded wings over her swollen belly. He didn’t fear her, but he respected her. The pricked ears showed she was interested in their approach, even though he was a stranger. The young wizard stepped inside the gate and softened his body language, diverting his gaze to appear less threatening. He lifted his hand toward Cerys to sniff the back of, and decide how she felt about it. Maybe she’d smell a faint whiff of alpaca, but hopefully perceive it as friendly.

“Heeey Cerys,” Ambrose greeted in a quiet tone as she huffed and sniffed at his hand. When she seemed satisfied, he placed his hand on her shoulder before her wings and patted gently, but firmly enough so she’d feel through her thick skin. She was warm enough on this summer evening. Ambrose instinctively patted and scratched up her neck, while peering backwards down her body at the enormous wings. If they flapped they could knock him clean off his feet.

“She’s beautiful,” Ambrose grinned at Moira. “And awesome. Right, what do we need to prep?” He looked back at the assortment of things they’d carried over, mind on the job as ever.

Moira watched as Ambrose approached the winged mare. In relation to the rest of the herd Cerys was among the most calm and gentle. The reason could possibly in part be due to her being born and grown on the farm but most likely it was just how she was. After all, another winged mare who had the same upbringing was very pushy and required more energy to handle for any reason. Cerys' personality was one reason Moira was curious as to how the foal would turn out.

Hearing Ambrose's question she handed the bucket of feed to him with a smile. "We feed her this, and then we sit and wait. The work will come when she's actually delivering and she may or may not need much help."

Still observing, though confident in his capabilities from the time they had spent working together, Moira picked a spot by the fence and sat down.

In the house she had cast a charm on the water buckets to keep the water lukewarm and not let it drop to a chilly temperature. Cold, and hot, water wouldn't do the four of them any good later.

"So, how has it been working at the ministry? Other than the mountains of paperwork, anyway."

As Moira had warned, there was to be a lot of waiting. Ambrose was willing though, and he had good company. He gently shook the bucket of feed to catch the attention of the winged mare, but she was straight into it without much prompting. Ambrose laughed as her nose yanked down on the bucket, and he bent his knees slowly to lower it down and leave her to it.

Instead, the apprentice beast handler dropped down beside Moira, watching the giant head of the horse make easy work of the feed, her wings gently lifting and folding over her swollen belly as she picked up her feet in turn and flicked her tail.

“So, how has it been working at the Ministry? Other than the mountains of paperwork anyway.”

“It’s been brill,” Ambrose admitted without hesitation. “I knew it would be loads of hard work, but school was loads of hard work. At least now the hard work is doing the thing I enjoy the most, and I’m getting paid for it. It’s like a day long creatures lesson. Each time I learn new things, like habitats and how to map them, where to fill in forms and such. But I’m trying to get to know lots of people in the office, because they can tell me things about what happens and,” Ambrose lowered his voice, grinning, “they think of me when they’re off on assignments and invite me along when possible.”

Ambrose’s face lit up as he remembered a story from the other week that he’d not told Moira yet.
“The other day, right, I met a troll! All the years of getting them for exams on a bad day and I met a real one,” he laughed at himself, “a river troll to be precise. It was hiding under a bridge in a Muggle village and some children saw it and told adults. So I got to come along. They wanted to see if they could, you know disillusion the area so it could stay. Went downstream to look at another bridge that was quieter. Troll’s a weird language, I think I could learn it though.”

He attempted to grunt a few times and ended up laughing at himself instead.
“What do you reckon? You ever seen one?”

Cerys was, unsurprisingly, making short work of devouring the feed. Even with her extra supplemental feed she had been getting the past few months the Aethonan mare was always hungry for more. While watching the scene before them, Ambrose took a seat beside her.

Listening to his answer about working at the ministry, how it was like being paid for going to his favorite class, Moira nodded in understanding. She was glad he seemed to be enjoying his time there with everyone on level four. It would have been very discouraging if it wasn't even remotely what he had hoped for.

Her own choice of employment was satisfactory to her. Work hadn't started yet, that came the following month, but she had received a general itinerary of what her duties would be . The work wasn't all that different from what she did now with the horses and miniature dairy goats. However, her magizoology studies would be new. Other than that she still felt a little odd knowing her boss was more or less the same age as her.

Moira gave a hint of a smile and shook her head in negation before responding, "No trolls or other newly exciting creatures around here. I do still look for Dobhailen, though." The beast wasn't one she mentioned often. If she were to tell Ambrose about the four times she had seen them, first time being when she was seven, he would be one of the few to believe her. Even her dad thought she had been dreaming or imagining things. As a child the disbelief had been upsetting. Now she was glad everyone, or almost everyone, believed them to be extinct.

Turning her head, Moira fully looked at him again. "It sounds like you get along with your coworkers. That's good. Anything else new? How are things at home?"

“No trolls or other newly exciting creatures around here.” Moira said, because winged horses were completely normal for her, even though this was making Ambrose’s day or maybe even his week.

“I do still look for dobhailen, though,” she added. Ambrose nodded sagely, thinking Moira had mentioned dobhailen before.
“One day.” He suggested, “you have the patience.” He smiled warmly at her.

“… How are things at home?”

Ambrose gave a nervous laugh. Moira had been at the wedding, and she saw how much his father and Gabrielle were besotted.
“Things are alright,” he admitted with a bashful shrug. “Me and Tim take it in turns to do brother duty, you know… we learned to change nappies, how to cope with being puked on. Can’t wait to not have the trace though, dad and Gabrielle have it so much easier with a wand. Less … messy. Though not always. Amelia peed all over Tim the other day, so funny.” He laughed at the memory of his younger brother’s distress. “He’s covering for me tonight… think I’m going to miss him not being about when he goes back to Hogwarts, like.” He reached forward to retie his bootlace.

“It’s nice though, living in Wiltshire. There’s loads of space. I mean, we’d not have to share if you came to stay again.” Moira had stopped over in their Muggle house in Biggleswade, and it had all been quite cramped. Ambrose paused, looking to Moira with a blush, “unless, you’d want to.”

Awkward.

Every once in a while Moira briefly wondered what life might have been like had her mom lived and she had siblings. Likely not too different from what Ambrose described to her now of his life at home. The cottage would have been expanded on. Her uncle would be living elsewhere, as he had been before. Life would probably been much noisier. Of course, Moira liked and enjoyed her life with just the three of them living on the land taking care of the animals. It was peaceful and secure.

Hearing Ambrose's statement about sharing space Moira glanced at him, not entirely sure what to say in response. That kind of statement, though, was best not left hanging. "It did work well last time." Her answer was neither a yes or a no, and she knew it. When she was visiting Biggleswade had been cramped but not terribly so like she had feared. Despite the circumstances of her visit it had been a pleasant stay, shared space and all.

A few more awkward seconds ticked by.

"So... I was going to tell you after the foal's born but, um. Since you're here and it's your first foaling you get to name it. The foal."

Moira navigated the awkward moment with more mature experience, replying positively, but not with any great commitment. Ambrose blushed and acknowledged things. He was still learning much about talking to witches, and learning how not to put his foot in his mouth.

“Name it?” Ambrose echoed, partly out of disbelief. “I can’t - I -.” He could, it was just he felt rather responsible all of a sudden. He looked from Moira to Cerys, mouth open in surprise. “Thank you - I mean, I’m honoured, I’ve never been asked to name something, so I’m surprised.” The most important naming Ambrose had done was of childhood toys, he realised with self doubt. A winged horse was something that would live for a while. He couldn’t give it a rubbish name!

“What’s the tradition? What’s the sire’s name?” Ambrose asked, keen to understand and make an informed decision.

Moira's distracting change of subject was successful, judging by Ambrose's expression of shock.  Offering a friendly smile she shook her head. "We don't have a naming tradition. The sire's name is Tarbh. It means bull and we named him that because he likes to headbutt." He would headbutt any creature in the field if he wasn't getting his way and people too if they didn't pay attention. Moira had been his victim more than once.

"There's no pressure to pick a name tonight. Sometimes coming up with a name can take a while, months even." Some of the foals didn't get a name until a couple months had passed while others had a name upon birth. "And, no, the name doesn't have to be in Gaelic."

Returning part of her attention to Cerys, Moira watched the mare. Right now they were waiting for a behavioral change. Cerys would start moving more, possibly laying down and getting up again, and then it wouldn't be much longer. For now the mare was quite still, content to stand and doze.

"If this took all night and you had to take off of work tomorrow, would you be in trouble?"

“… the sire’s name is Tarbh. It means bull, and we named him that because he likes to headbutt.” Ambrose laughed at the image in his head. A winged horse butting people around, feathers all plumped up like a big swan. “...There’s no pressure to pick a name tonight… and, no, the name doesn’t have to be in Gaelic.”

“Right-o.” Ambrose acknowledged, visibly relieved that there was less of a time pressure. “We’ll see what it looks like, when it comes out, like.” He gestured to the mare, but busy behind the eyes, already considering.

“If this took all night… would you be in trouble?”

“Er…” Ambrose paused, still looking towards Cerys, and held his verbal pause. “I don’t… well it’d be an original excuse, wouldn’t it?” He looked to Moira and shrugged, “Do you think I should owl someone? Like, well…” he tried to think who was most appropriate. Mr Spectre would be at home probably, and it seemed a bit direct. Maybe Mrs Lanningham. She’d been to the point with Ambrose as she showed him how to correct paperwork. Firm, and somewhat motherly, she had pitched her explanations to Ambrose at just the right level. Everyone respected her, and Ambrose was awfully polite around her, just like his dad had told him to be to everyone at work until he got the hang of things.

“If it’s not here by midnight, can I borrow an owl?” He asked Moira, figuring that it was better to wait and see if one was necessary. “Here, I’ll take notes. It can be training. Then no-one can say I’ve been skiving.” Ambrose dug into his jacket pockets and found his field notebook and a pencil.

The next few hours passed with Ambrose asking questions and Moira answering them, giving him time to write down his notes. When the night got chillier Moira cast a warming charm over them both and a weak lumos so he could see what he was writing but not disturb Cerys or the other horses.

Spending time like this was nice. Not everyone wanted to sit up until who knew when in the morning with her. Moira knew she wasn't the easiest person to converse with, given her general lack of speech. The witch was quite content, sitting in silence and listening to everything going on around them. The breeze was rustling the grass, crickets were chirping, Cerys' feathers were brushing against each other, and so much more. Many people had to fill that 'silence' with talk for whatever reason.

As promised, when midnight rolled around and Cerys showing no signs of delivery Moira let Ambrose borrow their owl to send a message. Hopefully between the owl and the diligent note-taking he had been doing would keep him out of trouble. Maybe there was something else they could add to that.

-------------------------

Finally, at just before three Cerys' colt had been successfully delivered with no complications. Per Sasha's request the afterbirth had been put in a bucket which would be frozen until he could pick it up. She still thought it was a strange request.

Moira glanced at Ambrose with a smile, "It's a boy." The colt's coat was a darker chestnut than his mothers, taking more after his sire in that regard. The foal also seemed to be on the impatient side, trying to stand almost immediately. "He's amazing."