In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different
The scene of her birth is not what someone would normally expect in a functioning family. It’s not really peaceful, and it’s certainly far from perfect. But, she comes into this world with heated words in her ears nonetheless, and she opens her pale, pale blue eyes to the horses that she’ll see as family. There is mother - dark blue, warm, laboring. The source of her life. There’s the pale, flecked mare, concerned and wary. And then, a voice above all others that causes her fine little head to tremble with the effort of turning it about to see him. The horned one. So much anger in his gaze.
But then there’s no time to think on it. Mother is urging her up, and so she stands, unsteadily, and uncurls her bright blue wisp of a tail while Felinae rubs her down. The cold is the first thing to really bother her and it stings against her wet coat. The filly shivers and takes a tumbling step forward. A whisper of a name floats against the wind and her dark ears lift upwards, catching the sound before it drifts away on the wind. Besra. Her name. She snorts, expelling water from her nose before shaking her comically large foal head.
The horned one is talking, but she can’t be bothered. It’s milk that she needs, and instinct guides her.
She’s almost black as ink now, but that will fade in a short time. Her baby fuzz will peel off quickly and reveal her true origins. A blue roan coat to match her father, and a baby blue mane and tail to complement her mother. It’s not hard to guess who she belongs to. She doesn’t guess that this is the cause of all the trouble, that she’s the source of immediate danger, so she looks around, whuffs her nose against her mother’s side, and wobbles to the source of milk. For now, that’s what she needs.
They argue, she finishes, and then she pops back out again, curiosity getting the better of her. Testing her own strength she lurches away from her mother, whinnying airily to hear her own voice. She can’t form words yet, that strange magical thing that all beqannians have in common, so she smiles and frowns and twists her silky ears to and fro. Her interest lands on The horned one, and since she doesn’t know any better, she takes a step towards him. He was herd, he was family, her brother.
How wrong she was.