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Maybe, having forgotten the small detail that he was pregnant hadn't been Schlatt's best move (he hadn't actually forgotten it, it was impossible to forget something like that, he had just ignored it so vehemently that it was as if his condition wasn't even there). The hybrid gasped, curling over himself as he felt a contraction squeeze and harden his abdomen. This shit was starting to get serious.
The ram moaned a long bleat as a new pain nearly made his knees buckle, opting to sit on the sad excuse of a bed, which consisted of a pair of rugs (which he had stolen from the back of a wandering trader's llama), that were already soiled and gross on the hard floor of the cave that would apparently act as a lonely, makeshift delivery room for the labouring hybrid, whom contractions and a burst of water between his legs had caught by surprise while he wandered through the woods one afternoon, being forced to stumble to the first secluded spot he saw.
Even with the hot sweat running down his skin (which was lightly covered by a soft layer of thin natural wool) and the poor insulation of the bundle of rags between his body and the stone, Schlatt shuddered violently when his body made contact with the ground beneath him. The damn place was freezing, something he was partly grateful for and at the same time he loathed. On one hand, he knew that he wasn't overheating thanks to the low temperature of the cave, and on the other, it was too damn much! The coldness of the stone that surrounded him and the gusts of air that entered from the mouth of the cave made him shiver miserably, half naked and soaked in the almost total darkness of the place, barely lit by a single torch stuck up in the wall beside him. Surely it would already be night outside, the ram had been in that torture for a few hours now.
Schlatt grunted as a particularly horrid contraction seemed to try to kill him from the inside. And he almost felt like he'd actually die. His hybrid identity was supposed to make it easier for him to reproduce; his animal side was (allegedly) made to ensure quick and easy births, but perhaps nature had forgotten that detail (or had decided to punish him), by not granting him that advantage, also laughing in his face by giving him the quality of ridiculously narrow hips.
Again a crushing contraction and Schlatt rested his forehead over his hands on the floor, his legs open and his knees on the cold, wet and bloody cloth, and he pushed. He pushed hard and relentlessly, forgetting to even breathe with the effort until his lungs began to burn from lack of air and white spots began to flicker under his closed eyelids, panting desperately when the pain subsided. The creature did not move.
"Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout- get outta me!" Schlatt screeched in exasperation, bracing as he felt a new contraction coming and pushing almost furiously as he felt the pain reach its peak. "Fucking get out!"
Another contraction that came and went with the same zero progress as before.
The idea that the child could be too big for his body flashed through Schlatt's mind, making him feel a horrible pit in his stomach. There was a possibility that it was the case. That the creature might have gotten stuck in his canal. His pelvis was absurdly small, even for a normal-sized yeanling getting out of his body would be difficult.
His species tended to have short labors and smooth births, mostly because the lambs were small when they came out of their mothers (mothers who also had adequate pelvises), but the little bastard in his belly was not quite a lamb. And Schlatt wasn't even sure what it was exactly.
Wilbur, the man to credit for the current shit show happening in that cave was a mystery to many. Born of a man with wings on his back, and unlike his father, without a single feather on his body, Wilbur gave the impression of being a normal human. But after having begotten a kid covered in orange fur, with fox-like paws and ears, that man's genetics only made those trying to make sense out of his genes frown puzzled.
Could the thing that writhed in his guts be a fox too? Schlatt did not see it possible, mainly because he knew that foxes' kits were smaller than lambs. And the monster in the process of being born was anything but small.
Both Wilbur and Schlatt himself were tall, imposing figures; simply big individuals. Wilbur was especially known for being tall and slender (not to mention insane, but that was another topic), and Schlatt... Schlatt was a ram satyr, strong, robust and built like a true buck. An offspring of both would more than likely inherit at least the size from the two. If only nature hadn't flipped him off by also endowing him with hips as wide as a clenched fist, maybe Schlatt wouldn't be dying on the floor of that cave with a brat halfway out of his body. Fucking Wilbur and his fucking dick. This was all his fault.
"Shitshitshitfuckfuckfuckfuck-"
Schlatt had to get that kid out one way or the other. They would both die if he didn't, and being killed by his own offspring before they were even born would be too humiliating. Determined, and desperate from pain, fatigue, and urgency, Schlatt pushed. And pushed, and cursed and screamed from the bottom of his chest in that echoing cave, hearing his own cries bounce against the cold walls. Bleating and wailing like a lambing ewe... because that was pretty much what he was at the moment. And then, thanks to the creator, he finally began to feel movement.
Exhausted already but finally starting to make real progress, Schlatt pushed relentlessly each time a contraction attacked him, straining almost to the point of fainting and he was soon rewarded with... something between his spread legs. Schlatt didn't even know which part of the kid he was touching with his outstretched fingers, unable to turn around to see or even peek past his swollen belly, but he knew that what he was touching was the child, so he just continued with his task. An odd feeling, like a little pop between his legs and then more of the creature's body was dangling out of him.
Gasping like he was drowning, Schlatt slightly changed his position, leaning on one forearm and releasing one of his hands so he could hold between his fingers whatever of the kid's body had emerged already, and then try to pull it to finish the process once and for all. The hybrid immediately regretted that idea, when the pain only multiplied at his experimental pull, and for a second Schlatt feared that he would hurt the lamb (or whatever it was that he was giving birth to), choosing better to just support the small body to prevent it from falling to the ground when he finally managed to give birth.
Schlatt tried to determine what the hell he was holding, what part of the brat he was gripping between his closed fingers. It was two relatively long limbs, covered in wet, slimy fur. They could be its arms, which would mean that the head would be in the middle of them; or could it be... oh, those were the legs, or hooves? Whatever they were, the hybrid would find it out soon enough, clutching the carpet under his body with his free hand and pushing like his life depended on it, Schlatt finally gave birth to his offspring. The last cry of pain reverberated through the cave before both of his hands flew to catch the newborn, who luckily was saved from crashing into the very non-padded stone bed thanks to the swift hands of its 'mother'.
The silence (relative when compared to the previous hustle and without counting his exhausted gasps) and the sudden absence of pain stunned Schlatt for a moment, his face leaning against the uncomfortable cold ground, his eyes closed and his hands between his legs holding the creature he had just brought into the world. The deafening stillness was broken by the soft, gurgling bleats that began to flood the cave in a small echo, coming from the newborn writhing in Schlatt's hands and now replacing the grunts and cries of the ram with its own indignant complaints.
The hybrid sat up very slowly, aching to the bones and shivering with cold and something else, with the sweat rapidly beginning to dry on his skin, proceeding to lean against one of the hard, sharp walls. It wasn't until that moment that he was aware of the intense pain in his knees, from having spent so much time leaning on them, they were probably left bruised under his own weight and the prolonged posture on the stone.
The creature wailed louder, shivering with cold as a new gust of air ripped through the cave, starting to really cry in Schlatt's hands. The sheep hybrid took a moment to contemplate the baby in his hands. He could now recognize the mysterious limbs as, indeed, its legs. Two short legs, covered by a soft brown fluff, ungulate and curved like his own and also ending in small hooves separated by two fingers each. It was a male.
Typical lamb features were well marked on his plump pink face, the creature looked like Schlatt had conceived it alone, with no traces of feathers, orange hair, or pointed ears in his appearance (to Schlatt's secret relief). Though two tiny nubs peeked through his hair, sticky with various gross liquids. The bases of those that one day promised to be curved horns like those Schlatt himself sported on both sides of his head; over the small drooping ears that, once they dried, would hang to the sides of the little brown head.
He wasn't exactly tiny, but he wasn't as big as Schlatt had thought he would be, that with how difficult it had been to have him. He was a fairly standard size for an average, healthy lamb, if not a little larger than usual thanks to his parents' genes. The struggle to give birth had more than likely been caused by his stupid narrow pelvis and the fact that the kid was in the wrong position when it came out.
The baby hadn't stopped bleating heartbreaking cries, shuddering from the cold and obviously uncomfortable. Schlatt lifted his blue sweater (which no longer looked as blue or as presentable after all the ruckus) and cradled the lamb against his warm skin, under the thick colorful wool, jumping in surprise as the unexpected feeling of the creature latching on his nipple and beginning to suck enthusiastically reminded him that that existed. Those things had been leaking for days, at least now he had found a solution to the uncomfortable sensation, also giving some use to that fucking milk (other than scent his shirts and keep them wet all the time).
Schlatt closed his eyes, catching his breath against the uncomfortable wall and trying to plan what to do next. He'd definitely inform Wilbur about the newborn's existence. The bastard was the culprit after all, and he'd better take responsibility for his offspring. The ram tried not to think what would happen if Wilbur refused to get involved or to believe that the baby was his.
His heart clenched at the thought, lamenting in the back of his mind over the relationship shattered for months now and the time lost since then. He missed the idiot, but he would never admit the deep anguish and bitter sadness in which he had sunk since Wilbur had decided to leave him, hardly saying goodbye and without even knowing that he had produced another child; who Schlatt had ignored from practically the beginning of his gestation. The hybrid sighed deeply, trying to push those ideas out of his head. He wanted to do things right from now on.
Schlatt pulled at the collar of his sweater and peeked into it to see the sweet lamb eat without a single care in the world, wagging his short little tail vigorously and enjoying the warmth of the ram's slightly woolly skin. In his strong arms, with the umbilical cord attached to his stomach and the fluids still on his body, the newborn looked... so tiny and so fragile. He looked like the most defenseless creature Schlatt had ever seen in his life. His hand reached out to caress a folded ear, which fluttered at the touch.
He wanted to do things right for him.