“Half-beast half-man, human to the waist but from the waist horses. Blessed are they with the strength of two bodies, combining the swiftness of wild beasts with the wisdom and experience of men.”

	The melody from Ixius's pipes lingered in the air long after his performance had ended. Even as he lowered the instrument away from his child-like lips the leaves of the forest seemed to dance in time, the final notes echoed in birdsong as his bestial audience began to depart: Squirrels scattered up the trunks of the nearby trees, bears sleepily lumbered away, seemingly oblivious to the prey darting between their legs, and a shy doe lowered her head into the bushes and disappeared.

	“Thessalia still isn't back yet,” sighed Ixius, reclining against a fallen log, the juvenile-looking faun curling his goat-legs up to his naked chest and adjusting his short stubby tail. 

	“Having a foal takes a while,” the other faun replied, wiping the wine from his lips, “She might not be back until tomorrow!” 

	Ixius folded his arms. “She's been gone since yesterday, Pholos,” he said sternly.

	Pholos blinked between sips of his goblet. “Has it been so long already?” He was so mischievous and carefree compared to his brother, he might as well have been an imp by another name.

	Ixius smacked his palm to his nub-horned head and grunted. “Maybe if you put down the wine once in a while . . .” he grumbled, trailing off before he pushed himself up and off the grass. “She could be in trouble.” As the older of the two brothers, Ixius was fiercely protective of both his brother and the tribe of centaurs they shared the forest with. A healer by trade, he kept everyone grounded while his younger brother Pholos made merry, spreading wine and mead, celebrating nothing in particular until long after moonrise. 

	“And if she's not?” Pholos countered.

	Ixius shrugged. “Than she's not. But if she is in trouble and we don't help her, than her brothers will catch wind of it for sure!”

	Pholos sat bolt upright, nearly dropping his goblet. Thessalia, like any centaur, had a wicked temper; Pholos often joked that even the titans trembled before her wild rage. Her legendary anger was comparable only to the temper of her two brothers – Daphnis and Hylius. Both fauns knew that if they ever let Thessalia come to harm, her brothers would chase them from the Mountain of the Gods to the underworld and back to exact their revenge.

	“They may have gotten wind of it already,” Ixius pressed, trying to motivate the other faun, “if they get there before we do . . .”

	Pholos shook his head, holding up his hand. “Enough,” he pleaded. He didn't need a detailed description of what the brothers would do to anyone that messed with their sister. The stories about the last mortal that did were still told around the campfire to this day.

	The two fauns packed up what few belongings they had and set off for the deep woods. Pholos carried his small cask of berry wine over his shoulder, checking each of the places the centauress was known to haunt. The spring, the nymph's grove, the waterfall . . . all empty. It was approaching nightfall when they finally heard the screams from deeper in the forest. Pholos and Ixius sprinted towards the sound as fast as their goat-legs could carry them, bounding over fallen logs with unearthly grace. They found Thessalia crumpled in a clearing, curled up on her side in obvious pain. The chestnut fur on her lower half was matted down, the bare skin of her human half was covered in beads of sweat, and two bloodied hooves protruded from beneath her tail. She groaned at their approach.

	“Pholos, water!” Ixius commanded, running to the centaur's side, “Now!”

	“But I don't have anything to carry it in!” Ixius protested from the edge of the clearing.

	“Dump the cask!”

	“But the wine-”

	“Do it!” Ixius brayed frantically, “Go! Now!” Pholos bolted from the clearing, apparently getting the message that this wasn't a time to argue. Thessalia groaned again, grabbing her front legs with her hands and pulling them up to the bottom of her human torso, wincing in pain. The hooves under her tail didn't move.

	Ixius went straight to work, crouching between the centaur's hind legs, running his hand along her barrel to let her know where he was. “We're here, Thessalia,” he reassured, “You're both going to be alright!”

	“The foal,” Thessalia grunted, letting her forelegs go, “I've been pushing – nngh – for ever and it feels like nothing's hk-happening!”

	The faun shuffled behind her and took a look. It was a mess back there. Centaur foals were normally delivered in a sort of diving position – the forelegs of the horse-half of them often came first with the human head between them. But when the faun reached between the protruding legs, wincing as his wrist passed between the centaur's equine labia, he felt... nothing. No head. No body. Just the slender legs of a horse. That couldn't be right. “Can you push?” Ixius asked innocently.

	Thessalia raised her head and curled her upper body to look at the faun, using her human arms to prop herself up. “It hurts!” she grunted, “I'm trying but it hurts s-so much!”
	
	“I'm sorry,” Ixius offered as he slid down on the ground and inserted his arm past the wrist into her body. Her plush, equine folds cradled his arm, twitching slightly as he brushed passed them. She was hot as an oven in there, and strangely dry – something must be blocking the works, he thought. So he pushed deeper still, supporting himself against Thessalia's thigh and mumbling another apology as he forced his arm inside almost up to the elbow, sliding his hand up the foal's leg until he finally felt something. It was round, hairless and soft. He first thought it was the head but that didn't make any sense – whatever he was feeling was to high up to be the head. So he continued to explore, his arm floating inside Thessalia's womb, blindly fumbling for something he recognized. The body of the foal seemed to go on forever, long legs connected to... what, exactly? It seemed to extend in all directions, like some sort of wall until he reached the edge of the womb. There was another fleshy protrusion off to one side. He followed it with his fingers until he felt... more fingers. Small, wriggling little sausages that curled around his own.

	A chill ran down Ixius's spine. That was the foal's back. All the signs were there, the ridges of the spine in between the blades of the shoulders, all nestled underneath layers of hairless skin and protective baby fat. The horse part of the centaur foal was in the proper position, legs-first. But the human part – the head, arms, and torso that were supposed to follow – were curled around towards its belly in a ball. It was stuck. He tried to feel further downwards but the barrier of the centaur's strained womb blocked him off. There was absolutely zero room to move in there, no chance of getting this baby into a better position. He quickly pulled his hand out lest it be crushed between the two bodies if Thessalia decided to roll. 

	Pholos returned with the water just as Ixius was shaking the slime off his wrist. Thessalia grunted a 'thank you' and rolled onto her stomach, leaning down to push her whole head into the full cask, gulping frantically between noisy gasps for air.

	“Well?” Pholos asked expectantly. Ixius shook his head.

	“Not good,” he replied, speaking quietly. “The foal's stuck. I can't get in far enough to move it.” They both turned their heads to see the centaur lift her head up from the cask and then grimace, the foal's hooves bouncing lightly as she rolled over onto her other side.

	“Is the foal even still alive?” Pholos whispered.

	Ixius nodded quickly. “I felt fingers moving,” he answered, “there's hope.  But unless the foal is born soon...”
	
	“You're the healer, what do we need to do?”

	“I need help,” Ixius admitted, “Thessalia isn't strong enough by herself. If you push downwards on her belly, I can try getting the foal into a better position.”

	“Won't that hurt?”

	“It's going to hurt like Hades, but it's the best chance we have of saving the foal.” This was Ixius's least favourite part of healing. Sometimes the cure was worse than the disease. He explained to Thessalia what he was trying to do and then went straight to work without giving the centaur much of a chance to process what was going on, and then pushed both hands up underneath her tail, one grabbing the foal's front leg and the other trying to hook under its arm to somehow twist the body into a better position. Pholos pushed against Thessalia's gut with all his might, using his hands first, then his arms, and when his arms weren't enough he threw his entire weight on her midsection. Meanwhile, Ixius twisted, turned, and pulled, grappling with the foal's slippery limbs in an attempt to wrench it free. Thessalia tried her best to push, at times silently, other times screaming until her voice was nearly hoarse.

	Hours passed – painful, frustrating hours full of sweat, blood, and intermittent progress. One moment, the human half of the foal would turned to a point where Ixius could almost grasp the base of its neck and pull it into position, but the next it would slip back inside and he'd be back where he started. He was getting nowhere.

	“This is madness,” Ixius sighed from the ground after the recoil from pulling so hard sent him tumbling. Pholos took a deep breath and reclined against the centaur's barrel. Thessalia took another gulp of water, still grimacing and breathing heavily before she rolled without warning, nearly crushing Pholos under her bulk. Maybe that was the key, Ixius pondered as he shook the slime off his wrist, getting her to roll might shift things around enough for him to get a grip on something. But if she rolled while his hand was still inside, he could get stuck as well!

	“Any progress,” Pholos asked, rolling to his feet. Ixius shook his head.

	“The foal's stuck,” he replied, “Really stuck. There's no room to move at all unless she rolls and shifts things a bit. But then the foal settles and I'm back where I started. If we could get her standing I might have a bit more room, but she's too weak for that. Even if I had the room I'm not sure what I could do with it.”

	“What if she was on her back?”

	“How would we even get her there? And how could we keep her from rolling again?”

	Pholos snapped his fingers and grabbed his brother on the shoulder. “I have an idea,” he said quickly, already turning to leave, “Go play her a tune – something to make her groggy!”

	Ixius nodded hesitantly. He wasn't sure what his brother was planning, but he trusted him. And if all he needed was a song, there was no one better suited for the task! He picked up his pipes and held them close to his chest as he walked over to the centaur and sat down cross-legged near the underside of her barrel. He gave her a reassuring pat on the flank before raising the pipes to his lips and beginning to play a soothing lullaby.

	As the melody flowed from Ixius's pipes, Thessalia's head began to droop, her eyelids sinking lower and lower, the centaur slipping deeper into a stupor with each dulcet note. By the time Pholos returned with bundles of vines, Thessalia was almost asleep, the enormous creature resting on her side with her head on her hands. Even so, Ixius continued to play, knowing that the magic of the melody would not last for long after he stopped.

	Pholos went straight to work, allowing his brother to continue to serenade the centaur. He tied a length of the vines around one of Thessalia's hind legs, stretching it to a nearby tree. He did the same with her foreleg, making sure the vines were stretched taut. The plants were springy, almost like rope.

	After making sure that the centaur's left legs were secure, he nodded for his brother to bring his performance to a close. The two of them, together, began the mammoth task of actually rolling Thessalia over onto her back so that Pholos could tie the other two legs and effectively restrain her. It was a good plan, or at least the start of one. But once she was on her back they would have to work fast. It wasn't a comfortable position for Thessalia to be in and as soon as she realized what was happening, she'd instinctively roll back onto her side, snapping the vines in the process and possibly crushing Ixius's fingers if he was still fiddling around in there. Her foal was still quite active inside, unaffected by the soothing melody and still desperate to be born. Slippered hooves bounced underneath Thessalia's tail, and her belly undulated like the ocean in a storm. Ixius thought quickly, leaning against the centaur's body while his brother finished binding her. The foal was stuck, he knew that much – the human part was tucked under the horse part and making the body twice as wide as it otherwise would be. If he could get the head un-stuck he could pull the foal out normally, but the head of a centaur foal was round and wide – hard to manoeuvre. If it didn't work he could end up breaking the foal's neck. He needed another option, but he was out of time. He needed to act, now. 

	It was a fine line between genius and madness, Ixius thought to himself as he once again rushed between Thessalia's legs, head level with her rounded teats, dribbling from the pressure on the other side. Depending on whether his idea worked or not, the bards would tell his tale as one or the other. He mumbled a quick prayer and reached between the soon-to-be-born foal's legs with both hands and . . . pushed.

	Clear amniotic fluid splashed from between Thessalia's legs as the foal's forelegs shrank back between her strained lips. The foal's tangled body must have been acting like a dam, holding back the birth-water. Now it coated everything from Thesallia's tail to Ixius's shoulders.

	“What are you doing?!” Pholos frantically demanded.

	“Watch!” Was all Ixius could manage to answer. He didn't have the heart to tell the truth – that he was acting on instinct, betting the foal's life on a crazy idea because it was the only one he had. If it didn't work, he didn't want Pholos to share the blame. 

	Slowly, Ixius began identifying bits and pieces of the foal. The hand was over here, that was another arm – or a leg? No, that was the umbilical cord. The legs were further back, but with the foal curled around it was surprisingly easy to reach them. First one hoof, he thought to himself, talking himself through the process, first one, then the other, don't slip...

	It must have been quite a sight from the outside: His hands floating inside Thesallia's uterus, shoved in up to the elbows and fumbling madly and reaching for who-knew-what. It didn't help that Ixius couldn't use his eyes to help him – he had to identify everything by touch and feel underneath a tacky, slippery amniotic sac. He needed to grab both the foal's back hooves for this to work. If he could somehow uncurl the tangled-up baby than he might be able to pull it out backwards. Then again, it might compound the problem and tangle the foal up worse.

	Finally he found both hind hooves, and pulled. The protruding front hooves slipped back into the womb and disappeared from view, replaced with more of the faun's arms as the foal curled around, unfurling from its cramped position into something vaguely more streamlined. The extreme discomfort roused Thessalia prematurely, the centaur groaning in protest as she tried to lift her human half before realizing that she'd been moved while she slumbered.

	“What's going on?” She slurred, arms waving and forelegs peddling in the air as she tried to find purchase on solid ground.

	The faun healer wondered bitterly if this could have happened at a worse time. He'd almost managed to make the poor foal do a full somersault, but now it was curled into a “C” shape, hands stretched out far enough to touch hooves. If Thessalia started pushing, she could undo everything Ixius worked for. It would be an absolute disaster.

	“Don't push!” Ixius commanded, trying to wrench the foal's hips free by turning the legs sideways and hoping the rest of the body would follow. The legs he was pulling seemed impossibly long, like they weren't connected to a body at all – no matter how much progress he made the legs always seemed to be just that much longer.

	That was, until the centaur foal's rump blocked the birth passage entirely. Ixius leaned back, dug his hooves into the dirt and let out a feral bleat as he yanked with all his might. The foal's buttocks emerged with enough force to knock the faun onto his back, his hands sliding off the slimy legs. 

	Pholos ran from Thessalia's head to his brother's side but was quickly shooed away. “I'm fine!” Ixius answered without being asked, “Tend to Thessalia, stop her from rolling! I'll tend to the calf!” The urgency in Ixius's voice made it very clear that his demands weren't up for debate. Pholos did as he was asked, rushing to the centaur's side and cradling her naked torso in his lap, running a hand softly through her golden hair. She grimaced and grunted, fumbling for his hand and gripping it tightly as she pushed with all her might. As addled as she was by the bewitching song, her body still knew what to do. Or at least it thought it did.

	“Don't Push!” Ixius repeated as he scrambled to his feet. The foal's hindquarters had been delivered successfully, but he had no idea what sort of shape the rest of the body was in. He still had the foal's front legs, arms,  two sets of shoulders and a head to go. It was still a victory getting this far, he reminded himself, however small it seemed.

	The foal was a rich, dark chestnut colour that sharply contrasted with the golden palomino coat of its mother. Wet fur shimmered like dew, each strand long enough to form little clumps of curls along the foal's side. Without a second thought, Ixius grabbed the closest leg and lifted it upwards, eager to see whether he was dealing with a colt or a little filly. What he saw transfixed him: a glistening pink phallus as thick as the fawn's arm spilled out from a pink and velvety sheath, engorged from the difficult birth. Keeping one hand on the foal's ankle he reached out for the floppy member, running his hand over it and savouring the feeling of warm, slippery flesh beneath his palm. The organ throbbed at his caress, reassuring the young faun that despite the foal's ordeals, he was still very much alive in there!

	The rest of the body could be delivered easily enough, Ixius thought, if the colt wasn't so damned heavy. His hindquarters alone probably weighed as much as the faun himself. He hoped for the best as he grabbed the hooves of the foal again and pulled, twisting the massive body from one side to the other, partially for the extra traction, and partially just to see that beautiful equine anatomy ripple and bounce at his command. 

	As soon as the umbilical cord was delivered, Ixius gently put the colt down. Thessalia was trying to roll back and forth, her poor vulva strained and stretched to its limit, but Pholos did an admirable job of calming her down and keeping her sedate. With a gentle hand, Ixius slid his fingers up the colt's underbelly, past the thick, rope-like umbilical cord and up into the womb, trying to find the foal's front legs. Because of the centaur's strange L-shaped bodies, pulling the hind legs would only work for so long before any midwife ran into problems. After the bulk of the horse-half was delivered, the front legs would need to be pulled as if they were the feet of a humanoid infant.

	The first foreleg was easy enough to find, the limb already bent with the hoof already protruding alongside the chest, as if the colt was laying down. The second limb was extended still, nestled alongside the colt's upper human body. Ixius sighed and went fishing for it, reaching up again to mid-forearm until he could find the missing leg and bend it into a more favourable position.

	“Okay,” Ixius announced to no one in particular as he grabbed both of the colt's forelegs and digging his hooves in again. He didn't expect to have to pull quite as hard this time – after delivering such an enormous body, Thessalia's birth canal should be plenty stretched to handle a comparatively slender humanoid frame. He was right – the colt's upper body came gushing out almost all at once in a heap on top of Thessalia's tail.

	The colt was huge. He looked more like a toddler than a newborn, already sporting a mop of sand-coloured hair on top of his round, wet head. Ixius expected him to leap to life at any moment, but the newborn made no attempt to move or even breathe. He was just . . . there, pale and lifeless. But Ixius wasn't about to give up. Not after the crucible that Thessalia went through to give birth. Not after all of his hard work, and certainly not after the foal's brutal struggle. He picked up the foal's slippery, pallid body and blew into his mouth, trying to make him breathe. But this was unfamiliar territory for the healer. Which of the colt's chests was he supposed to pay attention to? Where would he check for a pulse? The umbilical cord was still throbbing, was that going to be enough? Would it be safe to just wait it out and hope for the best?

	Ixius had an idea. He quickly looked at his brother. He wasn't paying attention, he was still cooing in Thessalia's ear about what a good job she did. Without wasting any more time, he quickly pulled the colt's hind hooves closer and felt around his tail until he reached the protruding pucker underneath, then quickly rammed two fingers inside up to the second knuckle. Man or beast, that would give anyone a shock. And by the gods did it ever – the colt coughed up a gob of clear mucus instantly and gurgled out a startled wail.

	The relief was palpable. Ixius slumped backwards onto his short tail, quickly withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the grass. The stress and fatigue of the last hours crashing over him all at once like an ocean wave. Pholos cheered and even Thessalia managed a weak smile. “A boy!” he announced, propping the newborn centaur's upper body into his lap, “A big, beautiful colt! What do we call him?”

	“It's a wonder he got here at all,” Pholos offered, turning to Thessalia. She probably had a name picked out already, but judging by her thoughtful expression she was reconsidering. “Can I . . . see?” she grunted, trying to lift her head. 

	“He's heavy,” Ixius chuckled, trying to guide the foal off of him, shielding his face from a wayward kick as he tried to figure out all six of his limbs at once. “Pholos, we need to get her untied-” he began before the mother centaur rolled onto her side, snapping two of the vines with minimal effort. It was a sharp reminder of how strong she was – and how blessed the two fauns were to have her trust. The colt owed his life to that trust. 
	
	Thessalia fell in love with her colt instantly. That hair, that chubby body . . . that sleek, pale coat and those thin, clumsy legs. “If you hadn't...” she began, stopping herself mid-sentance. Words would wait. “We'll call him Thavma,” she smiled warmly, reaching for her son, “For you. Both of you.”

	The two brothers looked at each other, giddy with emotion. The name she chose was ancient indeed, but both of them knew what it meant. It was more a title than a name, but one would be hard-pressed to find one more fitting.

	“Thavma,” Pholos repeated, “Miracle.”