	Dhyrn the gnoll watched the feral herd from his perch in the tree, his bowstring taut. There were several dozen to choose from, but he had his eye trained on one in particular, a large, bulky horse near the rear.  These wild horses were useful in their way, the smaller ones could be trained as mounts to greatly increase speed across the subtly rolling hills, and the lame ones could be used as meat. There was no place for them to hide in the flatlands, no camouflage against the green grass and tiny shrubs. They grazed obliviously.
	He was about to fire when an angry wind shook the branches, ruining his aim and threatening to liberate him from his hiding place. He grabbed on to a branch for safety and prayed for the powerful zephyr spirit to leave him alone for the time being. Although creatures like Dhyrn usually had the ear of the spirits, the zephyr currently hounding him was feeling especially stubborn this day, and refused to leave for several minutes. 
	By the time the branches had settled, half the herd had moved out of his field of vision. He cursed quietly, and re-trained his bow on a new target, a stallion with a limp. He let the string go hastily before the gale had a chance to return. 
	The arrow zipped through the air, landing squarely in the stallion's neck. The shocked horse jumped straight up, and hit the ground running. The rest of the herd scattered. The wild horse only made a few dozen paces before his head began to droop, and he stumbled out of sight.
	Dhyrn climbed down quickly, and spotted beast's resting place: the shade of a tree not far from his previous perch. However, there were two downed horses in the shade, not one. He saw the arrow sticking out of his target, but what was the other horse doing?
	He was about to approach when the figure moved, heaving and snorting mightily.  It was brown in colour, with white patches along its body and legs. Dhyrn quickly moved to its rear and his suspicions were confirmed by a white sac protruding from under the horse's tail. This was a mare trying to foal, and she was not having an easy time of it.
	Dhyrn had attended births outside his own species before, but he had never actually assisted in the birth of a wild animal. Still, a shaman was a shaman, and he felt obligated. And if he succeeded, well, the foal's feyrn would belong to him. He got a slight rise just thinking about it. These were large creatures, the domesticated ones were the size of pubescent gnolls at birth, and probably weighed about the same. He wondered how a newborn filly would feel wrapped around him. . .
	Another grunt interrupted his fantasy. The mare's contractions were powerful, much stronger then that of any labour he had seen. Dhyrn feared she was going to strain or break something unless he pulled the foal loose. He knelt down slowly, waiting for the mare to see him. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and the gnoll extended his hand. The mare sniffed it, and put her nose in his palm. A cold wind gently blew across the both of them. The Zephyr, sovereign spirit of the plains and all that dwelled upon, had witnessed the union. Dhyrn reached into his sack and pulled out a small bag of oddly-shaped bones. He tossed them to the grass, taking note of how and where they landed. 
	“This is a test,” he thought aloud. The spirit of the wind had given him a task to test his worthiness as shaman. If he succeeded, he would have the friendship of a very powerful spirit. If he failed, the same power would haunt and curse him and his tribe for as long as he remained here. He turned to the clouds and spoke, “I see your challenge, O spirit of the winds, and I accept!” The mare whinnied, urging him to return to work.
	Dhyrn crawled behind the mare and palpated the sac between the mare's legs. He felt a nose, and a hard, angular object that he could only assume was a hoof. He used a claw to puncture the opaque, stretchy barrier. A small fountain of clear fluid spurted from the hole before Dhyrn ripped the sac open, exposing the foal's nose. The foal's nostrils flared in response to the cool air. The gnoll breathed a sigh of relief as he wiped the fluid from the foal's face. He also recognized the problem: only one of the foal's hooves was visible at the opening. The foal was stuck. Dhyrn tried reaching a hand in beside the foal's head, but he had almost no room; the foal was very large. His efforts were foiled when his hand was squeezed and pushed out by a powerful contraction. He contented himself with cleaning the foal while the contraction passed, using his tongue to wipe its face as a mother would. When he felt the mare's passage loosen again he went straight to work, quickly thrusting his hand inside, feeling along the foal's flank for the other foreleg. The mare whinnied in discomfort as his hand slid beside the foal's head and found a hoof.
	He grabbed the slippery limb and tried to pull it forward, but the foal's leg jerked back. Dhyrn swore he could hear the wind spirit laughing at his attempt. He reached in again, this time gripping the leg itself and ensuring his grip was solid before beginning to pull. The foal resisted, but the gnoll was ready. He held the foal's head to the side with one hand as he pulled the leg free with a wet 'pop'. The mare, feeling a large release of pressure, decided to stand up, thinking the foal had been born. Dhyrn reflexively maintained his grip on the foal's leg as the mare stood, and ended up dragging the foal out of the birth canal and into his lap, along with an incredible deluge of birth-water.
	Dhyrn was completely soaked from the birth. The foal lay in his lap, legs-up, clearly confused. It was the same brown as its mother, with a white forehead and white legs. He turned the foal on its side and cradled the new life in his lap, marvelling at its size. It must weigh almost as much as the he did, and if stretched out from nose to tail, it would only be a head or two smaller. Dhyrn peeled the rest of the birth sac off the newborn foal, and his other hand felt its way up under its tail. He felt a small, slick opening that yielded easily to his fingers, and smiled.
	“Welcome to the world, little filly,” he said softly as the foal raised her head to look around, “Do you know how lucky you are?” He gently turned the filly to face him, and held her underneath the forelegs to prop her up to his chest. They were almost the same height with her sitting on his lap. He took the filly's weight and held her close with one hand. The other hand slid its way up her slippery newborn sex, hoping it could handle more than a finger or two.
	The wet filly was calm as the gnoll probed her depths, slick with afterbirth. He felt a sudden squeeze as he rubbed her tiny clit. “Just born and already raring to go?” he marvelled, and rubbed some more, eliciting a soft noise from the filly. “You naughty girl. . .”
	Dhyrn adjusted his position and placed his firm gnollhood at the filly's vulva. He rubbed against her slit, still wet and slick from birth and gently eased his way inside. He sighed in pleasure as the tip slowly slid inside her.
	He slowly bobbed the filly up and down along his member, working it in a bit further each time. The ritual was supposed to be one of pleasure, and he didn't want to hurt her. He stopped as his tip came up against her hymen. Dhyrn held the filly close with both hands, and gently pushed. He felt the membrane rip, and the filly's front legs kicked at the startling sensation. He pulled out a bit and thrust further, keeping one hand around her body and putting the other against her clit, rubbing it as he rocked his hips back and forth against her.
	She was incredibly tight, her immature sex hugging his girth perfectly with no room to spare. Dhyrn revelled in the sensation; he had never experienced such a feeling before! The real challenge would be to get the filly to finish before he did, or the ritual would be spoiled. He increased pressure on the foal's clit, and felt her begin to thrust in response. Even for a newborn, the sexual instinct was too strong to ignore. He stopped thrusting to save his finish, but the filly continued. He held her tightly as she rocked into him, accelerating until Dhyrn felt a great squeeze on his cock, nearly pushing him out. He remained motionless, trying to focus on something else so he wasn't swept away into orgasm with her.
	The filly abruptly stopped, and drooped over his shoulder. The gnoll gently lifted her off his sex, watching as the mixture of afterbirth and filly-cum dribbled on to his crotch. He placed the foal down on its long spidery legs, and it quickly stumbled and fell. Dhyrn grabbed his cock, still raging hard, and stroked himself quickly, spraying a load of gnoll seed directly onto the filly's face. She shook her head licked the sticky substance off her nose, visibly unsure of the taste.
	The mare slowly walked over to her baby, smelling Dhyrn's scent on her. She seemed decidedly uninterested, and began to walk away. The minutes-old filly tried to follow, but quickly stumbled and fell. Dhyrn went to her side and looked to the sky. He took out the bones and cast them again. He blinked, scarcely believing the outcome. The wind spirits had given him a mighty gift, as well as a mighty responsibility. He prayed in thanksgiving, but also for strength. The real test was only just beginning.
	 “You will be called Syhni,” he told the filly, “And you shall be my companion.”
