Kensa is bad at a number of things, but being a mother is not among them. She has failed before, this girl’s full sibling can attest, but there is nothing that means more to her than her children. Now that she has found shelter for Brunhilde, and can gently groom the burrs from her mane and the dried mud from her skin, careful not to overwhelm she tries to think of something helpful to say. Yet she cannot admit to any understanding of the terrible black hurt choking her tempestuous firstborn.
I don’t know what to do.
The chestnut lowers her ears back, sorrow carving deep lines into her beautiful face. “You don’t need to do anything, my love.” Why did they have to grow up and go into the danger of the world? She hated that her darlings needed to learn that the world is darker and sharper and far more than just the playground that she herself would like it to be. “I will take care of everything that you need me to.” She would never leave the girl behind, no matter how far she drifted or how many times she scorned the reckless, selfish creature that had given her life.
Kensa wants to tell Brunhilde to stay here, that she would be safe and it would get easier and that when she becomes a mother she will learn a love like she has never known in her life... But that would be a lie. She cannot keep the fire-summoner safe. She cannot promise that she will not hate the sight of her child...
Outside their shelter the wind picks up, little cyclones of detritus jettisoning leaves into the narrow entrance of the cave. These settle to quiver weakly at their feet, joining the bed of leaves and dried grass and other such accumulation on the floor around them.
@[brunhilde]
