My Giant and Me (A Fluffy Pony Hugbox Story) Part 8

My Giant and Me, Part 8

>Be Cowbell, the Feral Fluffy Mumma, with your two precious babies riding on your back, giggling and pointing to the grass and the distant flowers, asking you in their own, small ways what the things are, are they nummies, can they play with them.
>Makes you smile, even though you're so nervous. At this age, everything is wonderful. Nothing is truly scary, and you know that they believe that your fluff is safer than anything.
>If only it were true. You think bitterly as the Foals, Colts and Fillies around you graze eagerly, happy to fill their bellies.
>There's a broad swath of grass you all keep your distance from, still reeking of Sorry Poopies and, in a heart-breaking twist of fate, the legendary Sketties.
>Your Herd destroyed itself fighting over the Sketties the day after they came to this place, the day after the Giant Fluffy Munsta had scattered your Herd for daring to hurt it's friend, the Fat Happy Red Mare.
>The day after you had your latest Babies. Their first day has been nothing but clinging and crying and you hugging them desperately when the Giant Fluffy Munsta came ...
>All because the Bad Mumma and the Smarty Friend hurt the Red Mare, your Babies have never had any calm in their lives. You know the Smarty Friend is a Meanie, that he roams when his Sometimes Special Friend, the Stuuuupid Mare called Fern, is too bloated with Babies to give him Special Hugs, and sometimes he comes back with crying, sad Mares whom he bullies into joining his herd.
>The Red Mare, however, had the Giant Fluffy Munsta to protect her. But the Smarty Friend already gave her Special Hugs ... she had his Babies, but she didn't want to be his Special Friend, not that you can blame her.
>Does that make the Red Mare part of your Herd, such as it is? Does that mean the Foals belong to the Herd, even if their Mother doesn't? Or, because she's a Tame Fluffy, does that mean she's free of the Smarty Friend, because she has the Giant Fluffy Munsta and a Hoomin to protect her?
>And you have to consider that your Herd is lost forever. They all ran away, leaving their Foals, Colts and Fillies behind. You have to find a way out of this back-yard and out into the city to try and find a new Herd, if that is the case.
>Maybe the Other Herd that found Sketties, the one your Meanie Smarty Friend wouldn't let you go over to be taken to the Sketties, would accept the Foals, Colts and Fillies ... and hopefully you and your own Babies too.
>"Mus' eat. Mus' haf Nummies su can make Miwk-Nummies fo' Baybehs..." You whisper to yourself, cropping at the sweet, juicy grass mechanically as your eyes sweep the porch for any sign of the Giant Munsta or the Hoomin.
>You've had several lots of Foals, and several of them have been runts. You know how heart-breaking it is to have to give a child away, even if your instincts scream at you that the Small Baby is Bad. You've lived for almost two years on the streets. You know how hard life is, and how easy it is for a Fluffy to love and trust like you want to, so badly, only for anything and everything to hurt and scare you.
>You know the Hoomins who can actually be trusted are very hard to find, and most Feral Herds who find such a Hoomin will fight bitterly, sometimes to the death, to keep the location of those Hoomins a secret for their Herd alone, for too many Herds in one place will strain even the kindest Hoomin's tempers, and all will be driven away.
>"Can haf Miwk yet?" A young Foal asks, speaking right into your ear, making you start and jump forwards a half-step and your babies, squeak, then giggle at the 'game'. You were so focused on the porch you weren't paying attention to the Foals!
>"N-nu yet. Cowbeww sowwy, wittwe Fwuffy, nu haf nu Miwk yet. Keep eatin' Gwasses, soon yuu haf fuww bewwy, an' den Fwuffies gu haf sweepies in bushes ... den twy find Howe." You apologise, then nuzzle the Foal's head, making it smile happily even as it's tummy gurgles for want of milk.
>At it's size, this Foal only needs a few mouthfuls of milk a day, and if you could have grazed all day yesterday, a few mouthfuls for the smallest Foals under your care might have been possible ... but every little bit helps. More milk means a bigger Fluffy, and a bigger Fluffy can carry more food for the Herd, run longer, bite harder and provide more warmth for the evening Hug-Pile.
>And your Babies are only just two days old, and they need so much of your Milk right now. You might be able to help one or two of the smaller Foals ... but all of them? Your own babies would starve ... and even then, you still wouldn't be able to make sure all the Smaller Foals got enough milk to make them big and strong.
>You need more Fluffies to help you keep watch over the Foals, give them milk, teach them how to survive! The Fillies and Colts are too young and silly, playing as they graze, without a care in the ... oh no!
>" 'Ey! Nu!" You shout as a bold Colt starts to stroke the lower back of a Fillie with his muzzle, the classic opening move to a Special Hug. "Nu du dat! Yuu tu wittwe! She tuu wittwe!"
>The Colt squeaks in alarm at being discovered and bolts, tail tucked firmly between his legs, but the Fillie just blows a raspberry at you before going back to grazing, her tail lifting slowly back into the air.
>Naughty Fillie! Naughty Colt! Too young for Special Hugs! She'd be so weak and sick if she became a Fluffy Mumma now, and the babies would need attendants to help care for them ...
>And you have to accept that maybe ... your Herd, your Family, has abandoned you for good. And if that is the case, until you find a New Herd, as the oldest, and most importantly, most experienced Fluffy left, that makes you the Smarty Friend.
>And a herd of Colts and Fillies cannot risk being weighed down by Too-Young Fluffy Mummas and their Too-Needy Babies without Toughies to protect them and stop them from having ill-timed Special Hugs.
>So you graze, and you take your eyes away from the porch to keep watch over the  Foals, Colts and Fillies, bumping apart those who are playing too loudly or those who try to be Adult Fluffies and give Special Hugs.
>So busy grazing, being the Smarty Friend and teaching your Foals what the things they see are that you don't pay any notice to the sound of the door opening, and then closing behind you.
>Don't notice thud-thud-thud until it's right behind you, and the Colts and Fillies rush into a hug-pile right in front of you, squeaking in alarm as the ground suddenly shakes beneath your hooves!
>You turn, wondering what could be making them so nervous, and then look back to the porch ... or rather, you try to, but the massive, canine head of the Giant Fluff Munsta is blocking your view, the young Saint Bernard lying on his belly in front of you, eyes fixed on you ... and the innocently waving Babies on your back.
>"Mumma! Big Fwuffy!" One of your precious babies giggles, not realising the mortal danger you're all in.
>"Woof." The Giant Fluffy Munsta says, and all the Foals, Fillies and Colts scrunch up behind you, hugging you and each other for security as you stare into the large, black eyes of the Giant Fluffy Munsta ...
>Everyone is peeing in terror now, shivering and whimpering, and the Giant Fluffy Munsta's eyes crinkle into a ... frown?
>And then that giant, canine head leans forwards, and you're bathed in his hot, fetid breath, your babies crying at the terrible smell.
>"Mumma is so sowwy, baybehs ..." You whisper to them, paralyzed by fear, as the mouth opens, and your whole world becomes a gigantic, pink cavern filled with yellow, sharp fangs longer than your own legs.

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>Be Silk, walking to the door to the backyard with Daddy right behind you, your three Babies and the Nice Green Feral Baby nestled on your back, Daddy right behind you.
>The Orange and Purple Feral Foals are back in the 'cage', Daddy says that they didn't want Huggies with Bruce. Peed all over themselves, made Bruce sooo unhappy.
>Silly Babies! Bruce would never hurt a Fluffy! You remember when Daddy first brought him home, you thought he was the biggest, fluffiest Fluffy Pony you'd ever seen till Daddy explained the truth.
>Bruce was a Baby Dog, a 'Puppy', whose mother had rejected him. That made you so, so sad, so you resolved to hug him and play with him as much as possible.
>It was a lot easier when he was your size, but as he got bigger, you were only able to hug him when he laid down, or when he brought his head down to sniff or lick you.
>So Bruce kept on growing and getting so, so big, but he always remembered how much you loved him, so he always stayed nice and gentle.
>Daddy says that Bruce will go out first, to make sure everything is okay, and then you can go out with him.
>He's got the boiling-Wa-Wa toy with him, a big bag of off-white flakes, his sweet white dust in a jar and the Not-Mumma-Milk Things.
>Says that this way, there will be enough milk that every baby can have Nummies whenever they want, and you won't have to worry if you run out.
>How all those things can feed your babies, you don't know. There's no milk there, no white wa-wa's ... maybe it's more of Daddy's Magic, like how he can make the "Tew'wie" turn on just by pointing a black thing at it?
>You can hear the Orange and Purple Feral Babies squeaking at each other back in the house as Daddy leans over you and pushes the door open.
>Poor babies. They won't get to play on the grass. But they should not have tried to pee on poor Bruce! He was only giving them Hugs so they wouldn't feel cold and unloved!
>You laugh as you hear your Babies shouting "Gwasses! Hewwo!", and are half-way down the stairs before you notice that there's a cluster of small Fluffy Ponies huddled together in front of Bruce, and he's licking the only other Fluffy near your size eagerly, making her squeak in protest.
>Oh! OH! She has babies on her back! Bruce is trying to make friends, but he forgets, his tongue is so big and so sticky!
>"Nuuuu, Bwuce, nu du dat! Baybehs, Bwuce, Baybehs nu need baff!"

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>You are the Owner of Bruce and Silk and her three adorable Foals, watching the whole circus in front of you with no small amount of amusement.
>Bruce, the giant softy of a Saint Bernard, must have come across this Herd and tried to make friends, and it hasn't gone well for the Fluffies.
>Strange, the majority are kinda small ... huh.
>Well, the biggest, a 'Fluffy Mumma' like Silk, is squealing in equal parts fear and surprise as Bruce gave her a vigorous licking, the giant dog's tongue leaving a broad, flat streak of fluff down her back and nearly dislodging her foals in the process.
>Silk, giving you your third shock for the day, rushes over as fast as she can, all four Babies perched on her back jumping up and down and chirping "BWUCE BWUCE BWUCE!" at the top of their little lungs as their mother trundles over to Bruce's shoulder and grabs a mouth-ful of his fluff, tugging on it urgently.
>Bruce stops mid-lick and turns his head to blink at Silk, wondering why his little friend is nomming on his fluff ... and then starts to bathe Silk in turn. Must think she's getting jealous of the attention he's 'lavishing' on the Ferals!
>"Nuuu, mah Baybehs nu need baff eitha! Bwuce, stawp bein' siwwy!" Silk whines loudly, but she's somewhat undermined by the high-pitched giggling of her Foals ...
>Well, the Green Feral looks mildly horrified, but Bruce's halitosis does take some getting used to.
>Six sticky foals, two mildly sticky mares, a very confused Saint Bernard and about a dozen scared little Fluffies later, you've managed to put some semblance of sanity back into play.
>This group of Ferals seems to be mostly young Fluffies, with a sole adult Mare leading them. And they're fucking terrified of Bruce.
>Huh ... maybe they've had bad experiences with dogs before? Or ... a bunch of young Fluffies and one older Mare with Foals ....
>Could be part of the Pink Arsehole's Herd. Still, these guys don't seem to be so aggressive as the others, and Bruce's there to stand guard ...
>"Sowwy! Siwk is suuu sowwy! Bwuce nu meanie, he jus' fow'get he suuuu big!" Silk is apologising to the Feral Mare, a dull, washed-out Blue colour, as she leans against Bruce's side, her Foals 'helping' the Green Feral Foal onto his back.
>Not that that takes very long, for some reason, the Green stopped, whispered something to the other Foals, they whispered something back to him, then Green started climbing right on up like it was his life's purpose.
>Must have figured that if the bigger, fatter Foals loved and trusted the Saint Bernard, it must be safe. Or he might have figured out no Ferals would ever bully him again once he was safely seated on the back of the Saint Bernard's head.
>"Big Fwuffy Munsta nu huwt Fwuffies? Buh Cowbeww saw Big Fwuffy Munsta chase Hewd aww ovah Gwasses, su big, suuu angwy at Fwuffies!" The other Mare replies, nervously holding her babies to her chest as she sits on her bum in front of the huddled, shivering Young Fluffy Ponies, gnawing on her bottom lip with what you assume is worry. "Wed Mawe nu wet Big Fwuffy Munsta huwt or scawe Fwuffies nu moar?"
>"Bwuce onwy angwy wit' Bad Nasty Meanie Baw...Meanie Pink Pegasus an' Scawy Meanie White Mawe." Silk starts, correcting herself before she 'swears' in front of the Foals. "Bwuce is big an' siwwy an' stwong, buh is nu Meanie, nu on puwpose."
>You've set the kettle to boil, and are adding the flakes of Fluffy Milk and Sugar into the bottles. In a couple of minutes, you'll add the hot water, let the artificial milk and sugar blend into it and then let them air-cool a bit before offering it to the Feral Mare.
>Silk's teats are getting nice and full again, but this Feral Mare's teats are only just protruding from her Fluff. She's got almost no milk at all ... and she's got almost no body-fat, from what you can see of her face, neck and legs.
>Hell, all the Ferals are thin. And you have a horrible feeling these are all the youngsters of the Feral Herd. So the Young Fluffies were kept apart from the Herd while the Adult Fluffies brawled over it, or were they separated ...
>Wait, the Pink Rapist Smarty Friend was missing a tail. Could Bruce have gone all Hulk Hogan on the Ferals? Is that why they looked to be so terrified of him? This Mare was the creche-mother, or was she just closest to the Foals, Fillies and Colts?
>On second thoughts, more sugar to the formula. Any additional fat the poor little blighters can store up will be a bonus.
>But man ... what to do. Sure, you could call up a Shelter and ask them to come around, pick up the Ferals, but is it the right thing to do? The rest of their Herd is still out there, but said Herd is a pack of assholes. And there's a good chance the Ferals will be broken apart and spread out over several Shelters ... and adoption rates are abysmally low.
>There's a good chance the younger Fluffies might get adopted, but is it right to break up a family? Were they only brawling because of the Spaghetti you put out, or was it a deeper problem within the Herd itself?
>So caught up imagining scenarios you don't hear the laughter until you turn around and see a pair of bold Ferals have crept over to Bruce, poking his big, clumsy front paws with their snouts, and the Saint Bernard whuff's happily, tail flying all over the place, and Silk's three Foals and the Green Feral Foal giggling and waving from the top of Bruce's head.
>Okay, tying yourself in knots won't help this situation. First, feed the Ferals, keep them calm, and try to get them to tell you what in the Nine Hells is going on here.
>"Hey, Silk? Do you think these Fluffies can be trusted? Do you think Daddy should give them food?" You ask loudly, crossing your arms over your chest.
>Yes, you're trying to look intimidating to Fluffies. Oh Gods ....
>Silk ponders the question for all of two seconds as the Ferals all turn and look at you, mouths shooting open in shock.
>"Yes. Pwease, Daddy, Fwuffies soooo hung'wy, pwease can dey haf Nummies? Dese Guud Fewaws, dey nu huwt Siwk .... wite?" Silk asks nervously, looking to the other Mare for support.
>"Nu, nu Huwties, nu Fights, jus' wan Nummies an' den weave." The Feral Mare, a pale, dirty-looking Blue, replies softly, her two Babies clutched to her belly, nosing at her small, mostly deflated teats. "Stuuupid Smawty Fwiend make Hewd come hewe, Hewd haf sooo many Angwies, nu wan be Meanies, buh we aww sooo Angwy."
>"Angry, huh? Why?" You ask, sitting down about a meter from the Ferals. Why were they angry?
>So the Feral Mare starts her story, about how the Herd has been struggling for months now, ever since the New Smarty Friend took over when the Old Smarty Friend choked to death during a tragic accident involving a piece of gum stuck to his hoof.
>About the Milk Sharing Plan that never worked.
>About the Mares who were bullied into joining the Herd after being tricked, isolated and then raped by the Smarty Friend.
>About the Bad Mumma who kept on losing her Foals and then tried to steal everyone else's, and those Foals she did manage to take being lost as well, sometimes forever.
>About how the other Herds had claimed to have found Spaghetti, but the Smarty Friend wouldn't let anyone go to see if it was true, so all the Mares who could leave did so, sick of their cruel Smarty Friend and desperate to fill their bellies with good food to provide for their own Foals and to put some fat on for the leaner times.
>Halfway through the story, you've got half the Young Feral Fluffies in your lap, hugging you and each other and sobbing.
>"Why Mumma guuuuu! Wuv Mumma, why Mumma nu take Fwuffie?" One little peach-coloured Fillie sobs, rubbing her face on your shirt. "Nu wan' be wit' Smawty Fwiend, is Meanie, say Fiwwies mus' gif Speshaw Huggies soon! Nu wan ha Owies, nu wan pway Huggies game!"
>"Owdah Sissy an' Mumma say dey bwing Sketties back, buh Smawty say is twick, dey nu wuv us nu moar. Say dat Otha Hewd jus' wan haf Speshaw Huggies." A bright golden-yellow Colt mutters unhappily as your hand strokes down his back.
>"Bad Mumma say dat Mumma steaw Fwuffie 'way fwom Bad Mumma, buh is nu twuff! Mumma is Mumma, Bad Mumma nu is Mumma!" A small Foal sobs brokenly as it's hugged by several of it's Herd-Mates in your lap.
>Unholy Shit, this is terrible. So the most aggressive, self-assertive Fluffy took over and began to run the entire Herd as a personal Harem, and the Bad Mumma keeps on preying upon the other Fluffy Dams, trying to steal their Foals and then losing them as well.
>And everyone else was too weak and cowed to do anything but endure it all and stew in their own bitterness.
>It would also go a long way to explaining the fucking shit-and-spaghetti free-for-all you saw earlier today. All that frustration and fear and tension just exploding out of the Ferals with their favourite meal being devoured by the 'Mean' Fluffies.
>But ... you can't keep a Herd of Feral Fluffies in your back yard. They'd strip the grass down to the roots in a few weeks, and your garden would be demolished even sooner.
>Let alone the sheer, uncontainable stench of thirty lots of Fluffy Intestines hard at work. One errant spark and you'll blow your back-yard clear off the map.
>And Fluffies being Fluffies, two weeks with no predation of their numbers, and thirty Fluffies could become seventy or even eighty, and then you'd have all kinds of shenanigans on your hands!
>Still, letting them eat well for at least one day won't be so bad.
>"Alright, you can stay for today, and I will feed you." You say loudly, making Silk clap her hooves excitedly, and the Feral start to hug each other and laugh. "But tomorrow, you will all have to decide if you want to leave and be Ferals, or if you want me to take you all to a place where you might someday have Human Mummies and Daddies of your own."
>The Feral Mare looks nervous, but she takes one look at her nursing babies and her nearly-deflated teats, and sags in defeat.
>"Tank yuu." She says glumly, not looking up as you gently remove now-estatic Foals, Fillies and Colts from your lap as you attempt to stand up.
>The Feral is probably expecting you to come flying out of the house in a few minutes dual-wielding chainsaws. Set on fire with shark-skin handles.
>Well, not today.
>Today, it's kibble all 'round and a big, shallow bowl full of super-sweetened Fluffy Formula for the smallest of the Feral Foals.

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>Be Cowbell, the Mumma-Smarty Friend of your Young-Fluffy Herd.
>The Hoomin was very ... understanding of your plight.
>He seems to be very kind, even if you did watch him drive off your Herd this morning.
>Patted and petted and stroked the Fillies and Colts, looked very unhappy when you told him about why everything was just so wrong for your Herd right now.
>But ... he says he's going to feed you all? And you must stay for all of today?
>That's dangerous. This isn't a 'Safe' Hoomin.
>He might be. He even asked the Red Mare if she trusted you all enough to let you have Nummies, and she said yes! Most Hoomins you know of don't even care what a Fluffy wants.
>If you make poopies, if you eat their grass or their nummy bushes, if you make any noise, or even if they see you ... they attack, with boots or brooms or ... worse.

>But the Red Mare said yes ... after all the Smarty Friend had done to her! After having the Bad Mumma attack her and try to steal her precious Foals.
>You ... feel so nervous, and yet so humbled. Most Mares the Smarty Friend attacked refused to eat for days until their desire to protect their Babies overcame their desire to get away from the Smarty Friend, even if it meant having the Longest Sleep.
>Yet the Red Mare, this 'Silk', has no fear of you, or the Young Fluffies. She trusts you, and that's more than you had dared to hope for.
>She's introducing some of the Fillies and Colts to this "Bwuce", the Giant Fluffy Munsta, and on top of the Munsta's head are her four Babies ...
>Four Babies. She must always be running out of ... milk.
>No, three of them are so fat, their cheeks are so round, but the fourth is ... it can't be him! It's the Green Foal! Cobble's Baby!
>"Dat Cobbwe's Baybeh!" You say excitedly, waving a hoof at the Green baby. "Dat Cobbwe's Baybeh! She gun be suuuu happeh tu haf hew Baybeh back!"
>"Gween Baybeh?" Silk asks, turning to look at you with a puzzled expression. "Buh Gween Baybeh say dat his Mumma be a Meanie, aw'ways gif'in huwties, aw'ways bitin' him."
>Still, the Red Mare shuffles over to 'Bwuce' and stands on her hind legs, leaning against the Giant Fluffy Munsta without any concern and gently asks the Green Baby to come to her.
>"Wuv Wed Mumma!" Green shouts happily, and you feel a twinge of nervousness.
>What if the Red Mare doesn't want to give the Green Baby back? What if ... she is like the Bad Mumma? She keeps taking Foals from other Fluffy Mummas?
>But wait ... the Hoomin took them ... did he give the Green Baby to this Silk to look after, or did she send the Hoomin out to take the Babies?
>But this Fluffy is so nice ... and her Babies love her, unlike the Babies that the Bad Mumma always stole.
>"H'way!" Green shouts, giggling as he slides down the Giant Fluffy Munsta's shoulders to pompf into Silk's chest-fluff.
>And right after him comes a white, chubby Baby. Strange, it looks familiar ... but before you can get a better look, Silk is shuffling over to you, the two Babies clinging to the fluff on her back.
>"Yuu know Gween's Mumma?" Silk asks as the two babies on her back bounce up and down and beg for more 'slidey-pway' on the Giant Fluffy Munsta's back.
>"Yah, Cobbwe. She suuu wowwied, nu haf 'nuff Miwk-Nummies fo' Gween Baybeh. Stuuupid Fewn wan' Mummas shawe Miwk-Nummies, buh Fewn neva shawe hew Miwk-Nummies ..." You explain, frowning. Green looks ... good. No owies, no tear-marks on his cheek fluff.
>But that other Baby ... it has red eyes! And such pure-white Fluff! It almost looks like the Bad Baby ... but you never found the Bad Baby on the grass. Or in the Bushes. And even a Bad Fluffy like the Smarty Friend would have dealt with a Bad Baby properly.
>Normally, Bad Babies are taken away by the Smarty Friend, or the Mare's Special Friend, and placed somewhere far away, so they can have the Longest Sleep in peace.
>Bad Babies make a Mumma nervous, they smell bitter, the Birth-Owies-Yikky tastes terrible, and even after having so many Babies yourself, you still don't understand why.
>It's kinder to let them have the Longest Sleepies far away from the other Fluffies, so they never know what a Hug is, never know what a Mother's Milk tastes like ... so they don't have to go to the Longest Sleep knowing anything.
>They have the Longest Sleep alone ... but at least they don't know any better. They can Sleep forever, unaware of the few good things that would await them in life.
>It's cruel ... but it's always been the way that Bad Babies have been treated.
>Green, for his part, is excited to meet other Fluffies, and you smile, knowing full well the Herd met him before, but he's still too little to remember a Fluffy's face or colour. Everything right now is smell and taste and touch ...
>"Siwk suuu happeh. Siwk wowwy dat Gween Baybeh haf Mumma who nu wuv him." Silk sighs as the Green Baby shuffles over and hugs one of your own Babies, making it giggle at the soft, warm embrace. "Gween su sad, Owange an' Puw'puwe Baybehs awe so mean! Puww his fwuff, make him haf saddies wa-wa's! Gween say his Mumma be Meanie, nu wet him haf Miwkies, buh yuu say Mumma Cobbwe's wuv him, jus' so scawed an' wowwied."
>You want to ask more, but the White Baby ... there's something mesmerizing about it. So small, so cute, so fat, and those red eyes that blink at you as the White Baby's face crinkled into a smile as Silk urges it off her back to have Hugs as well.
>"Yuu ... haf White Baybeh? Haf Biggest Tummeh Owies, den haf White Baybeh?" You ask as it shuffles over and hugs your other Baby. It smells sweet, like the Green Baby, like your Babies, but the colouration reminds you of the Bad Baby.
>So sad. White is a lucky colour. Hoomins like White Fluffies, that Baby could have had a Mummy or Daddy if it had not been born Bad.
>"Nuuuu, Siwk nu haf White Baybeh wit' Tummeh Owies, buh Bwuce bwing tu Siwk." The Red Mare replies, smiling as 'Bwuce's' tail flies back and forth through the air at the mention of his name. "White Baybeh haf yikkies on him, smeww bad, buh Siwk cwean him, gif him Miwk-Nummies, wet him haf cuddwes, su Baybeh nu be sad."
>"Baybeh smeww bad fo' wittwe bit, buh den haf biiiiig pee. Pee smeww soooooo bad, buh Baybeh smeww bettah afta." Silk suddenly leans down and gently pokes the White Baby on the bottom with her muzzle, who then turns around, squeaks happily and charges over to Silk, nuzzling at her belly and the large, soft, teat-capped breasts before suckling at one of the small, pink nubs. "White Baybeh can sing Siwk's Mumma song tuu! Was suuuu sup'wised, buh is Guud Baybeh, wuv Siwk, wuv Siwk's otha Baybehs. Siwk happeh tu haf White Baybeh."
>You sit there, numb, staring at the White Baby in shock as your own Babies turn to play hug-wrestle-games with the Green Baby.
>It's ... the Bad Baby. It's still alive. The Giant Fluffy Munsta brought the Bad Baby to the Red Mare ... and it peed, and was a Good Baby?
>You sniff the air ... and there's not a trace of the Bad Yikky Bitter Smell that all Bad Babies have.
>The White Baby smells of sweet milk and sunshine and grass and even a whiff of poop, good smells.
>Silk's talking, but you can't hear her.
>You're thinking of your Bad Babies.
>The first, a tiny little blue bundle, squeaking pitifully as the Old Smarty Friend, tears in his eyes, took it away by the scruff of it's neck, to leave it under a bush to have the Longest Sleep.
>Of your second and third Bad Babies several litters later, where you lay, crying in shame and heart-ache as they waved their heads in the air, peeping for you, singing your Mumma Song ... and you had to struggle to your feet and leave them behind, because the New Smarty Friend wouldn't do his duty for you, and instead made the entire Herd start walking away.
>But ... all they needed was love? All they needed was to be loved?
>"Uuuuuuuu ..." You whine, tears forming in your eyes as you begin to shake with great, heart-broken sobs. "Uuuuuuu ... hic ... uuuuuu-hic­-uuuuu ..."
>Y-your Babies just needed you to love them, to be patient with them! To give them your milk! To give them Hugs! To wait until whatever sickness was in them passed out with their pee?
>Your Bad Babies ... and the Bad Babies of the other Mares ... could have lived? Should have lived?
>You don't feel Silk or the other Fluffies crowding around you, tapping you with their muzzles, asking why are you crying, as you sob and shake and mourn for every precious, loving Foal that passed on from this world without knowing the love of their Mothers, and wonder, at the back of your mind, how you are going to break the news to the other Mares of your Herd ...
>And how will Cobbles and Silk react when they meet each other, and the Precious White Baby they are both the Mumma of ...