The Bestest Babies

Giant_Neckbeard, January 5, 2013; 13:01 / FB 7981
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>Be Thyme, the Fluffy Mumma.
>For some time now, your Special Friend, Carrot, has been having to go out longer and longer to get you nummies.
>Nummies for you both, and nummies for you to turn into Milk for your babies.
>You finished off the whole pile of clover he brought back, as well as the mushrooms but it wasn't nearly enough, even though you could hear Carrot's stomach rumbling.
>You cried as you ate, apologising softly as your babies nuzzled at your teats, lipping the small, pink nubs of flesh and whining softly themselves as you pushed them away.
>You only have two teats, but you had four babies it was fine when they had only just been born, plenty of milk, and they were all so small, but now
>You ran dry of your milk by the end of the second day of their lives, and they've been fighting each other for what you can make ever since, all the time, when you're asleep, when you're awake, when you're trying to go outside to make your not-pretties.
>You've been producing milk slowly ever since, and the babies don't understand they have to ration the milk, they always want more, even though there's barely enough for everyone to get a mouthful every so often
>So, at four days old they all huddle at your belly, shoving and pushing to get access to your teats, pushing and shoving at each other and at your hooves, which you hold over the teats to try and conserve your milk.
>You sob and cry bitterly, warding them off your teats with your hooves even as you sing your Mumma Song to them, as loud as you dare, promising them your love even as you deny them whatever dregs of milk you have left.
>Then there's a clatter at the entrance to your burrow, and Carrot's back!
>But his eyes are full of tears, his body slumped, and in his mouth is half an apple.
>You smile weakly and praise him, telling your Babies to do the same.
>"Wook, baybehs! Fatha bwing back nummies! Is guud Fatha, teww Cawwot he is bestest fatha?" You gush, and Carrot smiles, if only for a moment.
>But the Babies just whine and whimper, trying to shove your hooves out of the way, scowling or crying or frowning as their natures demand.
>Carrot sighs heavily, slumps even further, and carefully drops the apple at your head, then starts to turn around.
>"N-nu! Cawwot, stay. Yuu nu haf any nummies, can heaw yuu bewwy compwainin' aww time." You whisper, wincing as you feel one of your Foals latch onto a teat, and then the angry squeals of the other Foals as they see this happen.
>Your attention is taken away from Carrot for a few seconds as you try to stop the babies fighting, and then pull them off your teats, which hurts because they are so desperate they hold on so tightly with their gums!
>When you turn around, Carrot's standing there, staring at you with a haunted expression as he watches the babies fuss and fight, ganging up on the one who managed to get a few drops of milk.
>”Am wowst Speshaw Fwiend." He whispers softly in a broken voice, nudging the apple towards you. "Hewds comin', take aww nummies, stwip gwassies 'way, make Hoomins suu angwy wit' Fwuffies, an' now baybehs fite 'cause dey nu can haf 'nuff nummies."
>"Gwittew an' Spawks gon', dey get wurst owies fwom Hewds who wah' dewe buwwow an' dere Mawes fo' dere own Hewds, an' deh Hewds fite, 'cause buwwow nu big 'nuff fo' evewy Fwuffie." He continues, staring into your eyes. "De Hewds' Smawty Fwiends nu wike each otha, make dere Mawes haf many baybehs, onwy wan' cowts an' stawwions, wan moar Toughie Fwiends."
>You thought your heart could not sink any further. Here, the Fluffies do not congregate into Herds, bitter experience having shown them that it's better to remain in pairs or small families, rather than the Herds they want to be, because the Monster can find a bigger group of Fluffies more easily.
>But the Fluffies from the other side of the river do not believe this, and every few weeks, several Herds escape across the Narrow Hard Stone Arch and try to make this Park their new territory.
>And you and Carrot have both lived long enough to know that Smarties demanding only Colts from their Mares means just one thing.
>War is coming to your home once again. The Herds will scrounge up all the grasses and nummies they can find for themselves, starving the Fluffies who live here and forcing them to pick a side, take over the Safe Places and then go to war.
>And then the Hoomins will get involved, and it will be another Purge. Hoomins coming with their Dogs and their Nasty Waters and their Bang-Bang Sticks and their too-tight Meanie Collars.
>"Den Cawwot mus' eat nummies. Thyme… Thyme mus' be Bad Mumma, an' fam'wy mus' weave dis pwace." You whisper back, reaching out a hoof to push the apple back to him. "Thyme… Thyme nu wan' Speshaw Fwiend haf tu see dis. Yuu is bestest Fwuffie Thyme eva know, wuv yuu, nu wan yuu see dis."
>For close to a minute, Carrots stares down at you, and you can read his expressions with ease.
>Shock, love, grief, anger, despair, and then acceptance.
>With tears in his eyes, Carrot slowly eats half the apple, probably the only real food other than a mouthful of grass here and there he has had since the Babies came, and then he gently pushes the apple back to you.
>"Caw Cawwot gon' go outside fo' wittwe bit." He whispers hoarsely, eyes closed against the tears, and shuffles slowly, painfully, up and out of the burrow.
>You cry too. You are the Mumma, and you should love your Babies more than anything in this world… but you have too many babies, and no Herd to help you.
>So you must make a Choice. Which babies you will try to save, and which babies you will have to forsake.
>Struggling up onto your hooves, you snatch up the apple and rush over to the far side of the burrow to devour it, marveling even in your sorrow how hungry you have become as a Fluffy Mumma.
>Sitting with your back to your babies and facing the wall, you gobble down the apple and then turn your upper body around, trying to wipe away the tears with your stubby legs and dirty hooves.
>Your babies have spread out over the ground at the far side of the burrow where you once lay, squeaking what few words they know to each other, and at you.
>You breath deeply and try to steel your heart for what comes next.
>"Baybehs… Mumma wuvs yuu. Buh mumma onwy haf 'nuff miwk fo' twu baybehs." You say loudly, hoping they don't hear the hitch in your voice. "Mumma's miwky-pwaces awe fo' Bestest Baybehs onwy."
>Immediately, three of your Foals stagger upright, whining loudly in their own, small ways that they are the Bestest Baby, as they race each other to get to you, and you watch sadly as they stop mid-way to shove and squabble and whine at each other, while the fourth baby, the softest and gentlest of them, curls up and cries bitterly.
>Eventually, one of the other babies hears the crying, and shuffles away to hug it's sibling, leaving you with two babies who are still grappling and squeaking angrily at each other.
>The Choice has been made.
>"Yewwow Baybeh, White Baybeh, yuu come tu Mumma." You whisper to the two babies still fighting, which makes them hug and release each other, shuffling over to you to paw at your sides, trying to get you to turn around so they can get to your teats, and then you yell loudly to Carrot. "Cawwot! Cho-Choice bee' made! Pwease come bawk! "
>Carrot shuffles down and takes one look at the scene and sighs heavily, leaning against the dirt-walls of your home, eyes firmly closed. "Wh-wha' Thyme wan' Cawwot do?"
>"Pwease gif huggies tu owr baybehs ova dere, tu Bwack an' Puw'puwe Baybehs." You reply in a quiet, brittle voice as you awkwardly shuffle backwards on your rear, again warding off the two happy foals whom just won the Choice as you shuffle past Carrot to the outside world, the two foals hot on your hooves and begging for their Milk. "Pwease… keep dem in Safe Pwace tiww Thyme come bawk. Pwease… am su sowwy, nu wan Bestest Baybehs haf tu see dere bwudda ah' sissy gu hung'wy."
>The last thing you see is Carrot shuffling over to hug Purple and Black to his chest as they cry out loud that you don't love them. But you are the Mumma, and the Choice has been made.
>So you lead your two cheering Foals out into the outside world, keeping your tail down low to stop them ducking between your hind legs to feed from you as you walk, and then from out of the burrow, several meters away to a pile of rocks.
>"Hewe baybehs, mumma gon' hewp yuu." You whisper to them, reaching down with a hoof to drag towards you a slender, sharp- edged sliver of rock off the top of the pile, the tears flowing freely now as your two Babies start to get frustrated that you still aren't letting them nurse.
>"Mumma gon' hewp hewr Bestest Baybehs." You say out loud to the whining, squabbling babies behind you, before you reach down to pick up the sharp-edged rock by the thicker edge with your mouth.
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>Be Carrot, holding your two Babies tightly to your chest, telling them that their Mother really does love them, she's just helping the other two Babies right now.
>Helping them in the only way she can right now.
>The sun has almost set when she finally comes back, her fluff all ragged from where she has been rolling on the ground, her eyes red and swollen, her mouth bleeding at the corners.
>You don't ask why she can't meet your eyes, or why she can't seem to hold your babies. You don't wonder why her belly is so full now, when there's barely any grass left now.
>And on the next day, when you see her poopies have traces of yellow and white fluff in them, you don't wonder why.
>You know why. Thyme had to be a Bad Mumma so she could then be a Good Mumma for the Bestest Babies.
>To do what she had to do for the Babies that were Good Fluffies, who didn't put themselves above all others, like the Smarty Friends who are responsible for starving every Fluffy Family in the Park with their hatred and their greed and their blind insistence on tradition.
>The Purple Baby, who did not to fight her siblings to be the Bestest Baby. The Black Baby who gave up his chance for the Milk-nummies to comfort his sister. The Bestest Babies of all.
>So you hug her until she can at least look you in the eyes again, which takes until morning, and then you both sob weakly, holding other each other for support as your Bestest Babies nurse from her full teats, whining about the bitter taste of the milk, but for the first time in days, there is enough milk for them to nurse till they are full.
>And as first light dawns, with your two Bestest Babies curled up asleep on their Mumma's back, you leave the Safe Place behind, both of you flinching away from the pile of stones, where you see the dim shapes of another Fluffy holding the Sharpy Stone, and a weakly twitching form that lies on the pile of larger, flatter stones, gurgling pitifully amidst the muffled sobs of the other Fluffy.
>You'll keep following the sun until you find a new place, a place where your Bestest Babies can grow up, happy and healthy and strong, away from the Smarties.
>Because you and Thyme will do anything for the Bestest of Babies.