Daphne kept her hands on Willow’s halter, palms slick with sweat and rain. “Easy, Willow,” she whispered. “Listen to me.” At first, the mare fought every touch. Then her ears turned toward Daphne’s voice, and her breathing changed from wild to shaky.
Dr. Okafor worked with quiet focus. More light. Clean towel. Step back. Hold her steady. The barn seemed to shrink until it held only Willow, the vet, and the small life trapped inside her. The colt made a soft noise from the straw, but no one moved toward him. Everything now depended on the second foal.
Minutes passed heavily. Dr. Okafor shifted his stance. “I have a better angle now.” Daphne felt Willow’s whole body tighten. “Next push matters,” he said. Willow pushed with what strength she had left. Daphne braced against her neck and kept whispering. The contraction eased, then came again. Straw flew under Willow’s hooves. Dr. Okafor’s face changed from concern to focus, then to almost hope. “There,” he said. “Again.” The second foal came into the world in a rush, smaller than the colt and terribly still. For one second, nobody knew whether help had come too late. Then Daphne saw the truth. “It’s a filly.”