February 6th, 994 Domina Solaria

And then that moment ended.

“D-Doug?”

The brash whisper comes from just inches above. There is a tremor in her voice, a hesitancy the human doesn’t normally hear. A gentle shake accompanies the word, but it can’t be because she fears waking him. Only Fluttershy is reluctant like that, the other mares far less restrained.

Doug opens his eyes, morning’s light flickering around the closed green curtains. Red-rimmed magenta eyes stare into his, a cerulean hoof coming up to rub at the corner of one. “What’s wrong, Dash?” he asks, his voice as soft as hers. He reaches up, brushing aside her hoof to hold and caress her muzzle.

He’s careful not to pull her towards himself as he sits up. Apparently he fell asleep on her bed, laying on his back without a pillow or sheet. He shivers briefly, but more from the shock than the chill of the room. Well, his shirt does have a damp spot on the left side of his chest. He pulls it away, flapping it in the hopes that it might dry out a little quicker.

“I…” Rainbow Dash stammers, head dropping down. Her body quakes as she motions towards the small ball of orange and cerise at her belly.

Doug finds his gaze wandering as his mare searches for the words. Applejack sleeps next to Apple Bloom, her Stetson already claimed by the foal who practically fits entirely inside it, only her red tail and a single yellow hoof sticking out. Rarity apparently found the time to repair her mane and tail, the elegant curls sweeping around her belly. One might think that the rose, mulberry and indigo all belong to the same pony until you look closer and see the distinct bouncy locks.

“I guess,” Doug quips with a hearty yawn, “that holding a foal makes me pretty sleepy.” He smacks his lips a few times for effect, gentle stroking her lain-down ears.

Rainbow offers a faint smile. “Yeah, something like that.” It doesn’t last very long, disappearing as she glances at Scootaloo. “D-Doug?”

“Yeah?” Doug says, frowning slightly. He doesn’t like her nervousness, finding it difficult to not drag her into a bear hug in the hopes of cheering her up. Or tickling her tummy, just to hear her laugh, especially if it leads to an impromptu wrestling session as she tries to reclaim her pride. Sadly, the sleeping foals preclude any such attempts at lightening the mood, but it doesn’t stop his hand from tickling behind her ear and trying to prop them up.

The cerulean muzzle quivers as it opens, her tired head pressing up against his chest not for physical but moral support. Her voice comes out as a strained whisper. “Do her wings seem small to you?”

“I….” Doug says, trailing off with a gulp of his own. He studies the tiny pegasus foal, urged on by a needy press of warm mane. “I don’t really have a lot of examples to compare her to, so…”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rainbow Dash snaps, never rising above Fluttershy’s whisper. Despite that the other two mares stir, if briefly.

Doug’s mouth purses. He doesn’t have much experience with foals, pegasi or otherwise, but even adult wings look dreadfully undersized for how much lift your average pegasi would need to provide. They certainly aren’t Bulk Biceps’ ridiculous proportions, but still woefully undersized. “Yes,” he answers curtly, “especially compared to you.”

A cold muzzle snakes its way inside his jacket accompanied by a new dampness on the left part of his chest. His arm reaches around as he realizes it was her, not the foal’s drool, that stained his jacket. He hugs her as tight as he can, her muffled sobs echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Shh,” Doug consoles, a wetness coming to his own eyes. “It’ll be okay.” He squeezes her as she shakes her head against him. “Did anything happen last night?”

Another shake of the head, though this one seems a little glad for the distraction. “Doc made sure everypony was healthy, got us cleaned up.” She motions to Scootaloo with a slight smile, “Everypony was tuckered out, so after they got their fill we all followed your example.” She adjusts her belly, her foal whimpering softly. “I think she’ll be ready for her fourth meal soon.”

“I don’t know about you,” Rarity says as she gets up, adjusting her mane with a hoof, “but I could certainly go for a meal myself.” She smiles at Doug expectantly, only grimacing at the poor quality of the bedding after she has secured his concurrence.

“Sugarcube?” Doug offers, her smile widening.

“Works for me,” Applejack adds. “Somethin’ hearty.”

“Three orders of pancakes,” Doug says, turning to Rainbow Dash. “You?”

“Same, loaded hay fries.” A smirk crosses Rainbow’s muzzle. “Cider?”

“You’re not drinking this early in the morning,” Doug says firmly. He rolls his eyes at her pout. “Fine, I’ll get some of the sweet stuff.” He glances at Rarity. “The usual?”

“That would be perfect, darling,” Rarity says with a nod. She sighs as he stares at her. “I am going to have to pay, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry, Rares. Ah got ya covered.” Applejack pulls a few bills from her saddlebags.

“One order of hors’ d'oeuvres coming up,” Doug quips as he takes the bits.

Applejack’s incensed “Hey!” follows him as he slips outside. Truth be told he’s glad for the distraction, a chance to collect his thoughts on the matter. He tries to spot any newborn foals, especially pegasi, but he can’t find any on the short walk to Sugarcube Corner despite the good number of ponies already out and about the town. He gets a few curious questions as to how the mares are doing, politely but curtly answering they are doing well and everypony is healthy. After all, he has hungry mares to get back to!

Once it is his turn to order he greets Chiffon Swirl with a friendly, “Hello,” and his order to go. As she busies herself he asks, “Is Pinkie Pie around?”

“Afraid she’s busy preparing today’s festivities,” Chiffon replies, turning to wink at him. “But if you’re looking for somepony…”

“Ah, right, Foal’s Week.” Doug nods to himself, still debating what he will say to Rainbow Dash. “How could I forget.” The week long party is for newborn foals and anyfilly born that day. Not strictly a week long, though outliers often get lumped in at the start or end. His mares would be going today if they weren’t staying in the hospital for evaluation, but they might be able to slip out for the festivities.

“Need anything else?” Chiffon asks with a chipper smile as she passes his order and takes the bits. She leans forward a little, peering into his eyes like he might be hiding something. “It’s more than your usual fare.”

“Everypony’s staying at the hospital. Nothing serious, I assure you,” Doug adds at her worried look. “Tell Pinkie I said hi!”

“Will do!” the older mare replies with a cheery wave, then rings up the next customer with a disappointed sigh.

Along the way back he spots a familiar pink mare walking next to her silver herdmate, both still quite pregnant. The haughty, almost constipated look on Spoiled Rich surprises him, but Silver Set manages to return his wave despite the quick glare her lead gives her.

“I wonder what that was about,” Doug mutters to himself as they pass, neither group saying anything. She looked a lot unhappier than he expected. “Hormones?”

Doug arrives to a no longer silent room, three foals merrily making a ruckus as they bound around the room, smacking into walls, beds and legs as they practice on unsteady legs. “Well,” he remarks, “I’m glad they waited until we were awake.”

“Yes, well,” Rarity says sharply as Scootaloo rams into her leg, then totters off to continue the chase, “have you thought much about juggling three foals? You’ll need to watch for random bursts of magic; I’ve even had to scold her for trying to fly out the window! Oh, and Scootaloo likes to get underhoof, but Sweetie Belle is just the most darling little sweetheart.” Rarity coos at the white foal imitating a drinking bird toy as she falls flat on her face, then pops up only to do it again.

Doug chuckles as he pulls out the boxes overflowing with food, Rarity getting her cucumber sandwiches. “Pretty sure Apple Bloom isn’t an alicorn.” He munches on one of Applejack’s pilfered pancakes. “Yet.”

Rarity gives a tired smile. “Well, be prepared for all sorts of antics. With three of them imitating each other? You most certainly will see Apple Bloom try to fly as she chases Scootaloo out a window.”

“Well, they’re certainly not letting failure stop them now,” Doug remarks as Sweetie Belle gets back up again, a determined look on her precious little face.

“Soup’s on!” Applejack calls as she digs into her pancakes. All of a sudden the room goes quiet but for the needy gulps of suckling foals, each finding their dam’s belly.

“Well, that was easy,” Doug says to himself as Nurse Redheart knocks and then opens the door. “Hey?”

“Hello,” the white earth pony greets wearily, almost like she was napping outside and waiting for the uproar to die down. That and has been pulling long nights and double shifts for a few days now. She wheels in a metal contraption and starts it up, the low thrum briefly drawing the foals’ attention before they return to their meals.

“Remember this?” the nurse asks as she pulls out a metal box. Doug shakes his head as Rainbow Dash nods, the other two giving reluctant shrugs. “This,” she explains mostly to Doug, her words short and to the point, “is a thaumometer. Like a ther-mometer, but it measures magic in thaums instead of temperature in Cels. It’s more accurate than the thaumic resonator you might be familiar with, but lacks the visual representation.”

“Cool,” Doug replies neutrally, watching intently. He’s fascinated by the numbers and clicks the machine gives off, almost like a Geiger counter. “What are you looking for?”

“I’ll be taking measurements. Dr. Horse will arrive… shortly. He’ll review the results and gives his best prognosis.” Nurse Redheart glances around the room, focusing on each pair in turn, and starts with Applejack. “Most ponies give off a similar amount of magic, with nearly all falling within ten percent of the mean. Outliers go up... never down.”

The clicks become louder and closer together she holds the thaumometer next to Applejack. One could almost see the farm pony fiddling along to the quick beat. “Very good,” the nurse says to herself, recording the number. “Quite high, but we’d expect nothing less from an Apple, yes?”

“Eeyup,” Applejack says proudly. Farming is very magic intensive work, at least earth pony magic, much as they might like to downplay it.

The clicks nearly die off as the thaumometer approaches Apple Bloom. The foal startles backward, then watches curiously as Nurse Redheart jiggles it around and makes funny cooing noises. She giggles, pressing her muzzle against it before trying to paw it out of the air, almost immediately losing her balance. She huffs, turning back to her dam’s belly and cuddling next to her.

“Well?” Applejack demands with a forced smile and happy voice. She doesn’t want the foals to suspect how worried she is.

“It’s…” Nurse Redheart starts before trailing off. She takes a deep breath, a very short shake of her head. “I don’t want to speculate.”

“You can’t tell us anything?” Doug asks plaintively as she gets a fast waltz from Rarity and a painfully slow funeral march from Sweetie Belle.

“...It could be a fluke,” Nurse Redheart says with a sad look, the chance of that obviously not very high. She tests Doug, and the room goes silent.

“Huh,” Doug and Nurse Redheart say at the same time. Doug continues, “I guess that’s consistent, at least.”

Nurse Redheart chuckles dryly. “Right. If you were a pony, you’d be dead. Or at the very least comatose.” She turns to Rainbow Dash, the fastest tempo yet. “Nothing less than we’d expect from you.”

The pegasus gives a cocky grin that lasts until Scootaloo comes in at barely half of hers. Magenta eyes well with tears, her attempts to blink them away for naught. She tugs Scootaloo close to herself, the foal protesting at first before sinking into her dam’s chest.

Apple Bloom will have none of Applejack’s coddling, escaping her seeking hooves as soon as she is full. She scampers around the room, quickly getting Sweetie Belle to join her. The two bound up to Rainbow Dash’s bed, staring with plaintive eyes that threaten to burst into tears. It isn’t lost on Rainbow Dash that there would be three crying ponies if she doesn’t let go, and though it pains her she does.

“It’s amazing,” Nurse Redheart remarks as Doug shifts next to Rainbow Dash, holding her again. “You’d never think they were so young, or so…”

“So…?” Rarity asks, a slight scowl showing on her muzzle.

“I… I shouldn’t,” Nurse Redheart says reluctantly.

“No, I insist,” Rarity commands. “Holding back is only going to make us dredge up the worst things we can think of, and he-” she motions at Doug “-is far better at that than anycreature has the right to be.”

“I was going to compare them to a mule,” Nurse Redheart answers after a brief and awkward delay. “But I don’t want you worrying about that. They’re far closer to ponies than their… half-breed nature might suggest.”

A sharp inhale from Rainbow Dash precedes a long wail, and she does her best to stifle it against Doug’s chest. The foals look up briefly, watch him pet her mane, and then go back to their game. Only Scootaloo keeps glancing back worriedly, oftentimes falling behind.

“Mules exist?” Doug asks nopony in particular. “And… donkeys as well?”

“I’ve said more than I should,” Nurse Redheart says quickly. She wheels the thaumometer out of the room with an apologetic, “The doctor should be here in a few hours.”

“Mules ain’t common,” Applejack spits out. “But nopony… well, very few ponies care for them or donkeys. Not that we got anythin’ against ‘em, but most donkeys stick to their own kind.”

“Because mules are sterile?” Doug asks, wondering how many parallels are true.

“Eeyup,” Applejack replies stoically, but she can’t continue without steeling herself with a deep breath. She desperately wishes that isn’t the case, or what she says next. “And they don’t get cutie marks.”

Rainbow Dash buries herself deeper into Doug’s arms, and he’s quickly joined by Rarity. Applejack joins a moment later, the bed sagging under their weight. They each lean on to the other for support. When one shudders the other two comfortingly stroke the quaking side, and soon enough find themselves in the position of needing to be comforted.

As Doug holds each of them close his mind wanders, debating what the closest parallel to a cutie mark would be for a human. Part of it would be their job, but more than that. It’s what gives them joy to do, and many humans never find that for themselves, or spend their lives chasing fleeting moments of happiness that never amount to the same thing. But it’s also who they are - perhaps, in a word, their identity.

What would happen to a person who never found their identity?

Undaunted, the three foals carouse around. Perhaps they are ignorant of what their dams are going through, or perhaps not, but they aren’t letting it bother them.

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