12-22-2017, 03:06 AM
Valensia
The freckled girl takes a moment to contemplate her mother’s words. A river, as the water flows gently by, Valensia puts a hoof out to test the liquid current. At first, it’s a little cold, and the tug around her hoof is a tad bit surprising. It doesn’t take her long to adjust to it, especially at her mother’s encouragement. Though crossing proves to be slightly more difficult as gangly legs tangle over themselves against the pressure thus she uses the creamy mare’s body as a buffer to keep herself from tumbling into the shallow current.
For a moment Valensia believes that absolutely no one could ever feel as safe as she does standing next to her mother. But as her honeyed gaze takes in the land before her thoughts quickly turn to eager exploration; and a burning desire to make this her home. The few hours in the meadow had taught her couple of things, one of them being that a gift given is met with a phrase. Though she may not completely comprehend the finer details of life just yet the filly can grasp the gist of a concept. So she repeats what she had heard a few dozen times in the meadow.
When complimented she puffs herself out a little, proud to be the receiver of her mother’s praise. Once again though her brain is coaxed to a new topic. Names, and she finds that she must puzzle over it for a moment. What was she supposed to call herself, was that the word the mare that left her had whispered in parting? Valensia or Val, she states it boldly and perhaps a little proud that she was able to remember this. Mother draws her attention away once more introducing another child. A child fairly similar to herself, though she is darker, and he has a strange color fading into his coat.
His polite actions make her feel slightly nervous. Why, she doesn’t know, but she responds in kind reaching to bump her own nose against his a little shyly. She wants so desperately to be accepted into this family, and with the connection she feels with mother she only hopes that she can establish a similar closeness with the rest of them. Hi, part of her kicks herself in uncertainty, such a stupid way to start a conversation. She wonders if she can save her blunder, or if saying anything more would make it worse. So she worries her lip and shifts her weight slightly bravely taking a moment to look at his face and try to read it; before looking to mother once more. This, she really hopes, can become home.
For a moment Valensia believes that absolutely no one could ever feel as safe as she does standing next to her mother. But as her honeyed gaze takes in the land before her thoughts quickly turn to eager exploration; and a burning desire to make this her home. The few hours in the meadow had taught her couple of things, one of them being that a gift given is met with a phrase. Though she may not completely comprehend the finer details of life just yet the filly can grasp the gist of a concept. So she repeats what she had heard a few dozen times in the meadow.
When complimented she puffs herself out a little, proud to be the receiver of her mother’s praise. Once again though her brain is coaxed to a new topic. Names, and she finds that she must puzzle over it for a moment. What was she supposed to call herself, was that the word the mare that left her had whispered in parting? Valensia or Val, she states it boldly and perhaps a little proud that she was able to remember this. Mother draws her attention away once more introducing another child. A child fairly similar to herself, though she is darker, and he has a strange color fading into his coat.
His polite actions make her feel slightly nervous. Why, she doesn’t know, but she responds in kind reaching to bump her own nose against his a little shyly. She wants so desperately to be accepted into this family, and with the connection she feels with mother she only hopes that she can establish a similar closeness with the rest of them. Hi, part of her kicks herself in uncertainty, such a stupid way to start a conversation. She wonders if she can save her blunder, or if saying anything more would make it worse. So she worries her lip and shifts her weight slightly bravely taking a moment to look at his face and try to read it; before looking to mother once more. This, she really hopes, can become home.
“And there was you - your fair self,
always delicately dressed,
with white firm fingers sure of touch
in delicate true work.
I loved you then.”
- Charlotte Gilman
@[Femur]