12-08-2020, 07:55 PM
despite the overwhelming odds, tomorrow came
Memorie might be able to see the emotional memories, residue from the immense amount of pain that I am in over this whole ordeal, but she certainly never showed it. She was such a happy child most of the time, and spent a great deal of time playing. She chases butterflies and loves to race–though I don’t often let her win, lest she get cocky. She also found fun to be had in playing pranks on me. She was as normal a child as anyone could have expected, except for those brief moments when she seems to understand that I need a gentle touch to remind me of her love.
It’s funny that @[Ankou] should feel as though Memorie and I speak so little, because he has said very little up until this point himself. In fact, all he’d said so far was his name. It left me feeling as though he doesn’t have much to say and is the quiet type. I, however, could talk someone’s ear off if I was in a good mood and the conversation was invigorating. Despite this, I wasn’t going to hold it against him. I give him a friendly smile when he says that life had brought him here.
Memorie gives him a friendly smile, as well. “I like your color and your shaggy coat,” she says, seemingly out of the blue. I glance back at her by my side, slightly interested by her statement. What was it that she was seeing in him? Was she seeing anything at all? The question torments me, because I didn’t want her to know of the pain within me, or the pain of others for that matter, and if she had her father’s gift... Either way, she shouldn’t be able to read in him what I could see–that he stands as though the world has come crashing down on his shoulders before. She was too young to be able to see something like that, and yet she pays him a compliment. Why?
I turn my attention back to the stallion, who is slowly moving closer to us. I’m not sure of what to think about this, because I’m not used to strangers approaching my child. A part of me wants to be protective, but the kind heart in me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The twinkle in his eye tells me that he is wanting to play a game with her, so I don’t act on the protective-mother instincts. I turn to Memorie, and she seems to understand what he wants, so she gives me a questioning look, and I return it with a smile and a very slight nod.
So when Ankou gently nudged her shoulder and bounced back a few steps, she rears back and twirls on her back legs with an excited whinny and canters away, glancing back over her chestnut shoulder to see that he is following. I back up to give Ankou space to chase after her, watching the filly carefully. I try not to think about how much she looks like her father, with the same flaxen chestnut coloring, the little goat horns beginning to sprout from her head, the light beard beneath her chin, and the cloven hooves. I focus on the blue tail, the only physical attribute she had inherited from me.
It’s funny that @[Ankou] should feel as though Memorie and I speak so little, because he has said very little up until this point himself. In fact, all he’d said so far was his name. It left me feeling as though he doesn’t have much to say and is the quiet type. I, however, could talk someone’s ear off if I was in a good mood and the conversation was invigorating. Despite this, I wasn’t going to hold it against him. I give him a friendly smile when he says that life had brought him here.
Memorie gives him a friendly smile, as well. “I like your color and your shaggy coat,” she says, seemingly out of the blue. I glance back at her by my side, slightly interested by her statement. What was it that she was seeing in him? Was she seeing anything at all? The question torments me, because I didn’t want her to know of the pain within me, or the pain of others for that matter, and if she had her father’s gift... Either way, she shouldn’t be able to read in him what I could see–that he stands as though the world has come crashing down on his shoulders before. She was too young to be able to see something like that, and yet she pays him a compliment. Why?
I turn my attention back to the stallion, who is slowly moving closer to us. I’m not sure of what to think about this, because I’m not used to strangers approaching my child. A part of me wants to be protective, but the kind heart in me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The twinkle in his eye tells me that he is wanting to play a game with her, so I don’t act on the protective-mother instincts. I turn to Memorie, and she seems to understand what he wants, so she gives me a questioning look, and I return it with a smile and a very slight nod.
So when Ankou gently nudged her shoulder and bounced back a few steps, she rears back and twirls on her back legs with an excited whinny and canters away, glancing back over her chestnut shoulder to see that he is following. I back up to give Ankou space to chase after her, watching the filly carefully. I try not to think about how much she looks like her father, with the same flaxen chestnut coloring, the little goat horns beginning to sprout from her head, the light beard beneath her chin, and the cloven hooves. I focus on the blue tail, the only physical attribute she had inherited from me.
borderline
