if you do not have shadows,
you are not in the light
She is a peculiar one, our Ruth, as she paws at the ground persistently in search of snow like her mother used to teach her. For no reason, really. It’s not as if she is starving anymore or trying to survive in the shadows of unclaimed land, in fact she has had quite the upgrade since a year ago.
But, sometimes, she misses the little things. The time spent sifting through square after square of the field in an effort to dig up some leftover green snacks. The hours before where they would hide in numerous areas of the treeline. The small moments of hope where Ruthless could play and frolic, and appreciate the break from paranoia and fear.
The small luxuries than are hardly considered good anymore, not in comparison to what she has now. The endless amount of shelter, the plethora of food, the company of friends; how odd that she had ended up where she did, even with what she went through.
Her stomach turns, what I went through? Our golden child shakes her head shamefully, as if she went through anything worse than her mother did.
How could she blame Brine, her shadowy mother and caregiver. Brine had done the best she could, right?
Her attention turns, watching as a dappled grey mare places herself almost centre of the field before taking a moment. Ruthless admires her from a distance at first, watching a stiff grin play across her face. Older, wiser, and even more important, a girl.
Boys were scary to our young filly, too scary. And for some reason she finds herself slowly gravitating towards the mare, as if she has a magnet of inspiration and Ruth cannot help but float to her company.
“Hello,” the palomino teen whispers almost hesitantly, as if she fears to break the woman’s concentration. And then she remembers be confident, so she follows with more oomph in her voice, “I am Ruthless! But please, call me Ruth. Oh! I live in Taiga, incase that matters any.”
In complete honesty, Ruthless hadn’t joined the mares company solely for recruitment. There is something about this mare, something that reminds her of mother Brine. Something that reminds her of a shadowy glow, like there is more to her story than just arriving in the field looking for guidance.
And, who would want the guidance of a two year old anyways?
Ruthless
