If Texas were the type to have nightmares, this one would be at the top of the list of ‘most terrible dreams ever’.

The horse beside the waterfall is 1) crying, 2) a crying child, and 3) a crying female child. He’s quite certain that he has never done anything to deserve this particular situation, and in fact has been watching her for several minutes from the shelter of the forest, hoping that someone else will find her first and spare him from the hassle of dealing with it. But no one comes, and Texas would rather not have to fend off corpse-picking crows every time he goes for a drink of water, so he steps forward.

As he draws nearer, he can see that she’s not actively crying, which is a huge relief. All he has to do is make sure she doesn’t start crying, and either push her into the water so she drifts downriver, or find someone else to take care of her. The first option is infinitely easier, but there’s also the possibility that they’re being watched and Texas would rather not deal with any possible consequences for his action.

“Hey,” he says, reaching forward to tap the filly on the side with a slightly-bent fetlock. “Hey. What are you doing? Where’s your Mom?” His heavy drawl makes the words sound kind – an unfortunate side-effect – but he’s also not frowning or actively trying to push her into the water, so perhaps he appears more well-meaning than he had intended.

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The filly does not immediately start crying when she sees him, which is an immense relief. She does do some rather strnage back and forth of looking at parts of him and parts of herself, and he’s just put the pieces together when she scrambles to her feet. He tries to back away, but the filly is quick.

“Umm.” He manages, looking down at the wide-eyed child.

He’d always assumed that even the dullest of children were capable of recognizing their mother, but it seems that he was either incorrect, or that this child is exceptionally mentally delayed. Texas is never wrong though, which means that the black filly is exceptionally dumb. Of course he’d find a stupid one, he thinks as the child accuses him of having left her. He briefly debates telling her that he is not her mother, but the tears in her eyes as she voices her hunger deter him from that, at least for now.

“Eat some grass?” he suggests, gesturing to the ground with a front hoof.

Wait – children don’t eat grass.

Perhaps they eat clover.

There are a few familiar pink flowers a few yards away, and Texas walks toward them, whickering gently for the filly to follow. “Eat this.” He says, reaching down to bite off a mouthful for himself in case she doesn’t know how to eat.

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He half expects her to wither and die as he watches – how often do children need to eat? Is it more frequently than adults? – but she steps toward the clover he’s gestured at with a look of determination that is uncannily similar to Texas’ own. She’s probably his, he thinks as she begins to eat; her mother had probably left her here thinking that he’d take care of her.

A horrible assumption, of course, but now that she’s here he can’t very well track down her mother and force her to take her back.

Well, he could, but that would require effort that he’s not inclined to exert.

Texas hadn’t corrected her when she’d called him Mama the first time, and it appears that the name seems to have stuck. “My name is Texas,” he tells her, “not Mama.” It’s probably a futile effort, so there’s not much force behind his words, and he swallows them up as she snuggles into his chest. This is not the first time he’s had a child press themselves against him, but it’s the first time in decades. With the waterfall behind them, he’s reminded suddenly – and painfully – of his passel of tow-headed children splashing in the water as he and Believer looked on.

The world had been a safer place for children then; the only danger was the wolves that lurked beyond the borders. These days there is danger everywhere, hiding behind smiling faces and gathering in force in kingdoms preparing for war. He could leave, he knows, let Beqanna settle itself the way it always has without him. But he looks down at the white-haired filly pressed against his chest and realizes that if he leaves she’ll be left entirely alone. He doesn’t love her – how can he when he’s only just met her? – but the thought of pushing her gently into the river and watching her drift away is suddenly far less appealing.

This is why it’s best to not think of the past, he tells him and he bends down and roughly tousles the filly’s mane. “Yes, this is home. This is the Dazzling Waterfall.”

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