She doesn't understand how they're sleeping and so peacefully at that.
Next to her, Bone is stretched out haphazardly, his limbs twitching in slumber. On his other side is Snow, her side flush against the foal, is breathing deep as the thin rivulet of hair upon her head pools against her cheek. It's a terribly uncomfortable looking position.
She can't for the life of her sleep; every time her eyes slip shut, a jolt shocks through her mind and she has to force herself not to bolt. Thus, she stays awake.
Above her the sky is clear and the moon is nearly full. The light seems attracted to the two beside her. It's impossible not to stare, to study these two creatures that are now connected to her. A smile flits, uncertain, across her mouth.
Dear Bone is a sweetness, like the perfect apple. He shows kindness and already seems to love them both. It astounds her. The trust this little foal has placed in each of them... She doesn't think there has ever been a time where she has felt so thankful and she knows she doesn't deserve it. Not even a little bit. But she can't bring herself to leave.
There's an altogether different feeling that greets her as she takes in Snow. She seems to glow and it's hard not to notice the softness of her fur or the prettiness of her markings, the curve of lean muscle, and--she's really quite exquisite. In a delicate, weak damsel way.
It occurs to her that Snow is the kind of doe all bucks want and she grimaces at the thought. All sappy mooning at one another, she imagines, as the two crow about love. The meager meal she consumed for dinner threatens to exit her stomach at the thought.
It must be due to Bone, she thinks. The idea of the other doe leaving him just for some buck--she refuses to entertain the idea. If Snow wants to find some pathetic true love to simper at, she can wait until the foal has reached adulthood. Their responsibility and lives are to him. And youth does not last long, it'll be over too soon and then the pretty doe can do whatever she pleases. As long as she doesn't neglect Bone.
She nods, pleased with the reasoning. And doesn't deign to examine it further. Why should she care; she doesn't, not at all. It's all about their son. That's all.
Isn't it?