I wake up in the darkness, dappled shadows leering across the dim room. It’s still night, or at very least, the early morning. Although I do enjoy my early mornings, this is too early for even me.
Suppressing a yawn, I slide my hind legs out from beneath the covers, then slowly drag myself from bed, approaching the window. As I lift a hoof to draw the curtains, I can’t help pausing, glancing up at the huge full moon, hanging low in the sky. It makes me think of Mom, think of the lullaby. My eyes close slowly, and I push open the window so I can breathe in the cold night air of the orchard.
A chill wind blows across me, and my coat stands on end before settling. “Hush now little one, you’re loved by all you know,” I hum, opening my eyes to watch the fireflies as they wander the apple orchards. My reverie is interrupted by a strange muffled sound, coming from behind me. I pull away from my window, glancing around the room. I can’t see anything that could have made any such sound.
And then I hear the cracking.
Even in my sleep muddled head, I can take a guess at what that means. Hesitating, I turn away from the window, heading over to my bedside. Bending over, I drag the lantern out from beneath the bed. Setting it on the comforter, I take out a match. Striking it, I light the lantern wick. Grabbing the handle in my teeth, I trot over to the cradle.
I lean over it, looking down at the egg, ears pricked. The egg-there’s a long hairline crack across the surface. It’s been hardly more than a week since I was trusted with it-shucks, it seems Celestia’s guess of at least a month was a little bit too generous.
Hesitating, I set the lantern down on the dresser. Sitting back, I watch as the egg cracks further, rocking slightly. Time passes by like a time lapse as I watch piece after piece of eggshell fall in on itself. I can see faint blue scales through the holes, wriggling about in the small space.
Suddenly the egg splits, and a tiny creature lays flopped out on the quilts, squinting like a newborn pony through little pink eyes. The little creature makes a soft sound almost like a mew, pawing at the air with it’s two front hooves.
It almost looks like a pony-except, waist down the little siren has a long fish-like tail, with spines down it’s neck.
Pausing, I lean over the cradle, carefully picking up the little blue siren. Stepping back, I hold the little creature close, cradling it gently. “Hey there fella,” I croon softly. “Welcome to the world.”
His coat is soft, laying smooth over the baby fat around his neck and cheeks, and his tail is softer, his scales cool to the touch and smooth as skin, like the soft satins Rarity has hanging like drapes in her inspiration room. He’s so small in my arms, and holding him, I can almost understand Fluttershy’s love for the tiny varmints she’s always caring for.
My heart skips a beat as the tiny mewling creature snuggles close to me pawing gently at me with his forelegs. I can hear Twilight in the back of my mind, warning us all how sirens aren’t like ponies, warning us even a newborn can be dangerous. I push it away, instead pulling him close.
The night wanders itself away, and slowly but steadily, the sun rises over Sweet Apple Acres, blinking it’s bleary light through the open window, casting it on me and the little siren I hold. Even though my hooves have grown heavy, I just want to hold him a while longer. At some point or other the little fella drifted off to sleep in my hooves, and I don’t want to wake him.
There’s the distant crowing of a rooster, but the little baby siren simply yawns, turning over and nodding back off. But it seems the bird did wake someone up.
Apple Bloom opens the door, rubbing her eyes blearily. “Hey sis, I was wondering if I could have some pie for-what’s that?”
“This, well, I suppose this is your little brother, for the next few years at least,” I say, careful to speak soft. “ He hatched last night. Would you like to come meet him?”
She walks over slowly, looking at the little fellow hesitantly, an uncomfortable expression in her sleepy eyes. “Why’s he a half fish?”
“He’s a siren, I told you that already,” I tell her, brushing my hoof softly on the little baby’s pudgy cheek. “I suppose that’s just what they look like.”
“Sirens look weird,” she says, grimacing.
“Apple Bloom!” I pause, then lower my voice, not wanting to wake him. “Apple Bloom! Don’t be rude! He’s just an itty bitty baby, and it’s not his fault how he looks anyhow.”
She shrugs, glancing at the window. “Shouldn’t you tell Twilight and the others?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Gosh darn it, you’re right! Though I guess I should wait until the sun’s risen a bit higher,” I chuckle, careful holding the baby siren in one arm as I get to my feet. “Maybe they’ll have some advice. So far all I’ve done is sing to the little fella and watch him sleep.”