A white horse with light gray speckling on her flanks lay on her side. She breathed heavily, and sweat slicked her coat. “She has been laboring hard,” Ella said, dropping down beside her and quickly walking on her knees so she could see the mare’s back end. The birthing sack protruded, but no hooves. She looked at Cain. “The foal needs to be guided out.” She began to roll up the sleeves of her tunic. “I have done this before.”

“As have I,” Cain said.

“My arms and hands are smaller and will do less damage to the mare.”

This made him pause, and he nodded, his face tight with worry. “We will help pull the foal out once ye position it the best ye can. Ella…” She met his gaze. It was like that of a man clinging to a barrel set adrift in the sea. “We save Ginny over the foal if a choice must be made.”

She nodded once and moved down the horse’s body to her head. Milk, thick with health for the newborn, was starting to stream from the mare’s teats. The thuds of boots running up behind her made Ella glance over her shoulder to see Joshua, all traces of his wry humor replaced with concern.

“She is losing all her first mother’s milk. Grab a bucket,” Ella said. He ran to the opposite side of the fenced-in area that was half covered, returning with a leather bucket.

Ella lowered her face so she could meet the mare’s eyes. “Hello,” she said while smiling and talking with a calm voice. “I know you are in pain, and things are not going how you had planned.” Did horses plan for their births? Doubtful, but it was the soothing quality of her voice that she wanted the horse to understand.

She raised her palm to the horse’s nostrils and breathed relief when they flared to inhale her scent. The mare’s big brown eyes were wide.

“No worries now,” Ella whispered. “We will help you birth your beautiful bairn.” She slid her hand down the horse’s neck, feeling the slickness of her sweat.

Cain positioned a bucket of water near the mare’s tail. “To wash before and after,” he said, handing her a bar of soap.

Ella washed quickly. “This will work better if we get the mare to stand, leaning against the wall. The pressure that is trying to push the foal out will ease up a bit.”

“Aye.” Cain nodded to his brothers and went to the mare’s head. He clicked his tongue. “Up, Ginny.” He did that twice, with all three of his brothers against her back to help push her toward her feet, and she rolled. After a few seconds, her hooves went under her, and she rose. “Good, Ginny,” Cain said and guided her against the wall of the foaling paddock.