“What am I supposed to do now, Grim?” Delia asked, once she had edged into Arial’s loose-box. The mare looked entirely different from the exhausted, suffering creature she had been last night. She’d gotten a rub-down and grooming since then, and a good sleep, and she was very much aware of everything going on around her precious foal. And with Delia in the box with her, she had gone tense and wary, ready to either flee or attack to protect her baby.

“Take this,” the stablemaster said, handing her a brush over the wall of the box. “If you’re going to be able to handle that foal daily, you need to get on well with her dam. Hold out the brush so she can see it. Wiggle it a little until she acknowledges you’ve got it and reacts.”

Delia obeyed; Arial focused on the brush, recognized it, and snorted once, then turned her attention to her hay, her entire body relaxing. She knew what a brush meant, and she was looking forward to it.

“Now go brush her neck,” said Grim. “Softly and gently. This isn’t meant to be a cleaning, it’s meant to be a treat. Right now, Star’s taking all her cues from her mama, so the more you make Arial relax, the more relaxed the foal will be.”

Delia approached the mare slowly and carefully, as the foal peeked around her dam’s buttocks. At the first touch of the brush, Arial sighed and sagged a little, then leaned into the brushstrokes. Arial even stopped eating, the better to appreciate the slow, steady pressure of the brush on her neck. Now exceedingly curious, the foal came around to sniff Delia’s elbow—and Arial did not object.

“Now hold out your free hand to Star,” ordered Grim. “But keep it close to your body. You want her to come to you, you don’t want her to think you’re grabbing for her. She hasn’t learned anything yet, so everything she does is either going to be what was born into her or what she picks up from Arial. If you move fast, she’s going to assume you are something that wants to eat her.”

Delia brushed with the right hand, and slightly extended her left. The foal made several false approaches before deciding to come close enough to sniff the hand. Satisfied that Delia wasn’t some sort of monster that was going to snatch at her, she moved closer still, coming in to sniff Delia from her ankles to her chest. Delia crooned nonsense at her, and the foal flicked her ears at the unfamiliar sound. Her fingers itched to touch that soft coat and curly mane, but she did as Grim was telling her.