He'd been nothing but a burden from the start. It's sad, but it's entirely the truth. She had not wanted him, or rather, not wanted him now and not like this. She would have wanted him in the end, however. If his father had been more of a herd animal, a family man, or even just patient enough - there would never have been a struggle.

But the truth is that things had turned sour, at least for her, and here he was, a year early and bringing her memories she did not care to hold on to.

He looks too much like his father to pretend he is another's.

Soon, she will have to tell him - but he's only weeks old, stuck in the eat-sleep-repeat cycle of a baby, although more frequently it breaks through with play, so soon enough there will be questions. About how the world works, about the other kids in Hyaline, and then about himself and why he doesn't look like her so much. Soon. But hopefully, not yet, not today.

She has taken on the habit of studying him when he doesn't look, and when he does, she looks him in the eye or lets her eyes get drawn to the soft taupe wings. Those are the only things about him that are entirely hers. And she lingers on the softness of his downy feathers, reminding herself every single time that he is different from his father, and that he will be a good boy like his surrogate dad. As much as the man is around, anyway - she knows he wanders, and sometimes the whtie mare wonders who he meets and if there's pretty girls to catch his eye instead. He has every right to, but still the idea can sting sometimes.
But she cannot rightfully lay a claim on anyone, and for his own good, she would never claim him. Not for longer than a day and a night, at least.

And when her son stirs once more, she is back in the heat of the day, finding the balance between surviving and living. She wonders what goes on in his young mind.