Ambrose was exhilarated from the excitement of the birth. He wore a great, goofy smile with rosy red cheeks and his light brown hair stood on end in several places. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his jeans were smeared with dust and stains unidentifiable. All in all, the young Gryffindor was in his element, eyes wide at the colt’s appearance. It had long, long legs and the tiniest hooves. It was damp but a tired Cerys was busy licking the foal all over as it butted heads with her at regular intervals and got to grips with life on the outside, keen to get to its feet.

“He’s amazing,” Moira remarked,
“He is!” Ambrose breathed, mindful to give them both space, “It’s hard to imagine that was inside, it looks so large.” For all the magic in the world, and tents and suitcases that were far greater on the inside than the out, a winged foal out of a winged mare seemed impossible.

“How quickly will he stand?”

Moira watched the pair of them as though spellbound. No matter how many times she witnessed a mare and her newborn foal it was always mesmerizing. The bonding experience began now and the less interference from people or other horses for the next few days was crucial. Cerys would teach him to stay with her and to stay on the far side of her away from danger. Not that anything would be out hunting them but it was still an important lesson.

Hearing Ambrose's question helped snap Moira back into the present moment. Glancing over at him she replied, "Within the hour, usually about thirty minutes. Do... you want to stay and watch?" The time until morning was shortening by the minute though if he hurried back he might still make it to work in the morning. Still, it would be a shame if he missed those beginning wobbly steps.

Ambrose wasn't bad company, she had never minded it in the past. The time had certainly passed more quickly with him there than it would have if she were sitting alone in the dark and waiting for the event. Moira knew that from experience.

“… Do you want to stay and watch?”

Ambrose turned to Moira with a grin across his young face, as if she’d just told him it was Christmas Eve. Of course he did. This was the best night ever.

“In for a knut, in for a galleon.[1]” He shrugged. He was sure nobody at work would blame him for such an educational night.

If they did, he would doubtless not hear over his snores.


End[2]

1.	wixified In for a penny in for a pound
2.	Given I’ve been absent so long, sorry Lyn!