In a coastal city of Trottingham there is a room. It is decorated plainly its walls white on three sides and a mishmash of colourful doodles on the other. It has a window that faces the currently rising sun, that causes the water to shimmer in a spectacular spectrum of summer sheens. There is a single bed with a small bedside table and a single chair placed directly beside it.
There are three ponies in this room. In the chair sits a slightly muscled young mare with a dusty brown coat her face held firmly in her hooves, the stallion across from her continues his explanation but she had long since stopped listening. She had stopped listening as soon as he had told her of the test results, tests that she had waited weeks to be done, only to be given this result. 'Most likely severely brain damaged, unresponsive and ultimately unlikely to ever wake up'. She lowers her left hoof and gazes at the bed where a noticeably smaller occupant was resting. He had been resting here for a month now and it broke her heart.
'What had her baby done to deserve the fate that befell him' The thought whistled through her head constantly and she always had the same answer for it... 'nothing, he had done nothing'. Nettle Sting shivered as she dropped her right hoof a noticeable bruise present. She blamed her fickle heart, the heart of a twenty something mother that had only been smart enough a week ago to realise that what happened to Little Thistle was no accident.
She should have seen it, cut off contact sooner. Maybe if she did that her baby would be awake and she wouldn't be sporting the remnants of a black eye after she had confronted the bloke that did this. She snorted to herself as she remembered 'Im not the only one with bruises now' it was a brief moment of respite from the crushing guilt. The bruises didn't bother her as much as the thought of not seeing her boy again. The shame of being a trained fighter who was abused didn't bother her as much.
All that mattered was her little colt, a colt that a medical professional said would most likely never wake up, remember nothing or die in this very bed. The guilt turned to anger which she quickly quashed, she was a professional and professionals don't let emotions get in the way. But this was an emotional matter wasn't it? A matter of the heart and not the body, she blinked suddenly as she let out a choked sob. She had faith in her boys heart but matters of the heart, body and mind didn't always mix, she knew that well enough. Its then that she notices the silence of the room.
The silence of the Doctor was deafening, she lifted her head to meet his gaze only to find him avoiding hers. He was shifting on his hooves awkwardly obviously wanting to say something... anything to cheer her up. After a moment he gave up and sighed to himself lifting one hoof to clutch his brow.
"I hate this bleedin job sometimes" He mumbled before regaining what little will he had left after this lengthy shift. Doctor Splint met Nettle Stings tear filled blue eyed gaze and felt his heart break at the mare before him. "Im sorry, truly I am. I feel like we should've been able to do more with all we have at..." He stops as green haired mare raises her hoof. It is a simple gesture that he understands. He nods his head, she nods back in silent thanks and he moves to leave the room.
And then the air around the colt warbled. Thistle Leaf squirmed in discomfort as a sizzling sound filled the air for a brief moment. Both the Doctor and his mother move to his side. Doctor Splint locks onto the effected area with a practiced eye quickly uncovering a mark. A mark that reeked faintly of burning flesh and blood. He squinted as he tried to make it out, it was crescent moon and between both ends was a sparkling slitted blue eye. He turned to tell Nettle Sting but quickly falls silent as he catches her gaze.
He turned to look at the colts face and realised something, his eyelids were fluttering, with a quick flash of his horn he casts a spell. The rush of data nearly overwhelms him but he presses on, this spell was supposed to be supported by at least four competent spellcasters. This was due to the informational load, a spell like this could leave one empty of thought and even though he knew of the risk Splint continued pouring magic into it until his horn sparked out.
The scan only partially complete told him enough, there was an unparalleled amount of activity. The colt it seemed was waking up.