Cerva finds solace in the meadow. Here, no one knows who she is. Here, she can be herself. She is not the daughter of a magician and a spring goddess. She is not the once-princess of the Valley. She is not the poison ivy-wielding sister to the rain-maker and the wolf boy. Here, she is simply Cerva. She is simply another fish among the school. She is just another bay mare with an awkward combination of breeds. She is just another passing face, another lost soul of Beqanna, another wandering sprite trying to find her way.
She could hardly call it trying.
Cerva has found immense peace in the busy yet gentle sway of meadow life. She enjoys the way she can become a part of Beqanna (and stay up to date with politics and kingdom-life – an instinct and desire instilled within her from her father) and yet she could also fade into the shadows and have a peaceful, quiet moment in the forest that borders the meadow. She enjoys the ability to converse when she wishes and disappear when she wishes.
Lately, she has been disappearing. She’s been conjuring up a faithfully quiet life in the forest, wandering peacefully. When the sound of horses approaches (the curl of voices through the silence, the heavy stamping of hooves, the overwhelming scent of equine) she conceals herself into a black-and-white badger, covering her furry body with her ivy until they pass. It is a blissfully wonderful life, to remain so absent compared to her childhood.
It isn’t until she feels that familiar presence that it shatters. Cerva knows, no matter how much hiding or how many ivy tangles she can pile atop herself, she cannot hide or run. So instead, she puts on her brave face and turns to face Eight. She forces the sternness of evil into her doe-like eyes (putting on the mask, concealing her gentleness and introvert personality) and raises her chin. “Hello, Daddy.”
Cerva