My father? I wrinkle my nose in confusion and scramble to my feet. All I know about are mamas. They feed you and tell you no and play with you. What are fathers for?
He is serious but he does not scare me, this large white stallion. He smells different, but not unpleasant. For all I know, red eyes and ravens are normal for every foal. My world is very small. Mama does not seem pleased with him but I whuff into his nose, a playful greeting. His question-father's question- takes me by surprise. Do I like ravens?
"Yes." I respond seriously, after a little deliberation. "I like the things with wings."
The bird does not seem to mutually share my fascination. I bend my head down and push my nose forward a bit, breathing softly onto the fur. No, feathers. Its feathers are so black they are almost purple, and its eyes meet mine, unafraid.
Are there more creatures like this in the world? Am I going to meet them all?
For a little while I am content to tease the bird, watching her wings flare and respecting the reach of her wickedly sharp beak. But eventually, the voices of my parents register in my ear.
I look up from the bird and glance at my father again, his conversation with my mama leaving me a bit unsettled. They do not seem happy. Perhaps mama does not like feathers like father and I do? I come closer, bored of being excluded, and nudge father.
"What do you do? Mama feeds me." I interrupt their conversation, following my earlier train of thought. Rude is not a concept I understand. "Can you talk to the birds?"
daughter of Gryffen and Minette