The face that returns is perhaps a bit sad, the older girl’s shoulders rising and falling. A small gesture of her indifference. Didn’t know?
Well, that would be just fine, because Sarkis was here to tell her. The little roan was always telling others about things, she couldn’t help herself. ”Yes of course, it is lucky. Mothers are always proud, so that means yours is too.” To Sarkis they were at least, for she hadn’t met a mother that wasn’t proud. She hadn’t met many mothers at all, but that fact meant very little to the young girl. The world was made up of what Sarkis herself made of it, and through juvenile eyes life was blissful.
The world was her oyster, strongly supported by the position her Dam held. She could go, really anywhere, through the confines of the jungle. She held little worry in her gentle heart, naïve to dangers that could, would, or should happen to her. Everything was matter of fact, and everything was wonderful. Why shouldn’t it be?
Little ears twitched atop her tiny head as she looked up at the green colored filly, hazel-green eyes shining bright. They burned with a blinding radiance, blessing all they fell upon in their wake. She was broadly grinning, clinging close to the fern-colored hindquarters she shadowed. Personal space hadn’t occurred to her, they were on an adventure after all. ”I’m glad.” She called ahead of her, warm laughter lining her announcement. She embarked mostly without caution, nares flaring to take in the jasmine-and-gingerbread smell permeating the air. Everything was exotic floral, mixed with the musk of rotting logs and fallen leaves.
”Lucetta, do you think we might see the spirit today?” She was ever curious, wondering what the growing cat was like when not accompanied by her mother, or one of the adults. ”The one the fairy brought, do you know? The fairies that took away the others tattoos.” Spilling exactly everything she knew so far about the special occurrence that seemed to be causing a stir. She gathered only bits and pieces of the story before the grown-ups voices fell to low or ended all together. They were stingy that way, keeping all the good stuff to themselves. ”Don’t you think that’s mean? Mother says not to snatch things, not to steal. Isn’t that stealing?”Had Mother been the one to say that? Someone had been the one to say that, perhaps it was something she overheard? Mother said, would do for now.
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