Veranda and Artillery

Epilogue

“Is Veranda doing alright?” Artillery whispered urgently to the doctor outside of Veranda’s hospital room. “Yes, sir, she is doing perfectly well, just a bit tired!” The doctor said, slightly agitated.

It was about the 50th time Artillery had asked about Veranda’s condition in the last twenty minutes.

“And the baby?” He added. The Doctor rolled his eyes. “A perfectly healthy little filly!” the Doctor said.

Artillery had to leave the hospital room due to some complications with the birth, and Veranda had to go into emergency surgery.

The doctor recommended that Artillery go home, get some sleep, and that they would call to tell how things turned out, but the doctor and nurses couldn’t get Artillery out of that waiting room if they tried.

He had sat and waited with no sleep for two straight days, hardly eating. The doctor said annoyed “And if you wish, you can see them both now.” He pointed down the hall.

“Room 515” he said. Artillery flew off toward the room with the speed of a bullet. “NO FLYING IN THE E.R.!” The doctor shouted. Artillery crashed into the floor, and got up running in a millisecond.

He stopped, took a deep breath, and opened the door to ward 515 quietly.

Veranda smiled. She was lying on a hospital bed, her head supported by several pillows. She was hooked up to a machine that followed the rhythmic beat of her heart.

Tons of colorful bouquets of flowers (All from Artillery) were in vases all over the room. Veranda’s pink mane was ruffled and messy, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

“Hi honey...” She said weakly, smile on her face. Artillery smiled happily. He looked just as rough as Veranda. Artillery reached out and softly kissed Veranda.

“I was so worried about you...” He trailed off. “Shush.... It’s okay, I’m okay...” She said weakly.

“Have you seen the filly yet? She’s so beautiful...” She whispered, pointing to a little clear plastic padded container, used for keeping newborn baby ponies warm.

A small lump was moving slowly up and down inside it. Artillery stepped over, quiet as a cat to it. He looked at the tiny filly inside it and gasped.

She was just as beautiful as Veranda had said. She had her mother’s pristine white coat, and little fluffy puffs of mane and tail that were coal black. The filly turned over, and cooed like a dove, reaching out to her Father. She had bright orange eyes.

“I named her Vista.” Veranda said weakly. Artillery gently picked up Vista, and before he could stop himself, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. The filly cooed softly again.

“Shh....” he whispered softly, setting the filly down delicately. Artillery was quite confident that the baby filly was one of the beautiful things he had ever seen.

He walked back to his wife. Artillery softly entwined his hoof with hers. Veranda smiled.

She felt tired, sick, and weak, but happier than she had ever been in her whole wonderful life.