Forgath reached down, his hands still free of their gauntlets.  He reached for things familiar, soft and dear.  He gently stroked the manes of his two drowsy foals and they nestled closer.  Parting at his touch, running in soft locks, their hair passed through his fingers.  The rest was tended to soon enough; he pet the foals a few more times, getting little yawns that betrayed just what his daughters needed.  Lifting the ponies gently into his arms, he made his way towards the bedrooms; there was some wiggling and one tired objection, but he paid it no mind.  Soon they rested in bed and crib, sleeping soundly.  Their dreams would come.  And Forgath knew, as he long had, that he had purpose.