steady as a preacher, free as a weed…
--couldn‘t wait to get goin‘ but wasn‘t quite ready to leave
She was no fool, and she knew that despite her fathers smile that mother had disappeared. Mother had a tendency to do this, leaving more Mast to ebb in her wake and pick up the pieces. Perhaps that is where Topsail herself got the urge to wander. Topsail could never understand their love, for no matter how far or for how long her mother left for, Mast always welcomed her back. Topsail would be harder to sway. She didn’t feel abandoned, per say, as she was grown now and no longer needed the nourishment her mother provided. She felt scorned and hurt on behalf of her father, who despite his brave face, was crumbling inside.
She also knew what her father had done when he thought no one was looking.
Not that she was looking, of course. But she could hear the regrets he thought about, the self doubts and shame. Topsail had no problem with her fathers personal life, even less so because Mother had disappeared right as Mast and his kingdom were on the cusp of war. It was no one’s fault but Camelia’s that Mast had lain with another. He had needed comforts only a mare could provide, and so he had found it. Topsail knew that the mares name had been October, and that their relationship (for lack of a better word) had been the fly by night kind, though not cruelly so. Mast cared for her in the way any stallion cared for the mother of his children, but he doubted that he loved her. Topsail had gathered all of this quietly, not ever letting on what she was doing. Perhaps she shouldn’t have pried, and maybe she should have let him keep the doubting to himself, but she couldn’t bear to see him carry even more weight atop his gray shoulders. Though he didn’t know that she knew, she still felt better having a clearer understanding of his thoughts.
It had been some time since she had lingered under the Mother Tree. As a child it had been her place of solace and comfort, possibly even more so than against the flank of her mother. It was strong and unyielding, even in the face of fire. She could admire that quality, that strength. But as she grew she spent less and less time beneath the boughs of the Mother Tree, choosing instead to spend her time in the meadow. She had a reason for going there as often as she did. At least, that’s what she told herself. But princesses weren’t supposed to go searching for men with skin made of silver and the ability to transport her to the stars.
The young girl caught her eye almost immediately. Topsail had no doubt as to who she was. The product of the consolation. She heard the filly calling for their (the word felt strange) father and she raised a brow but did not make to approach. Their father had been busy as of late, and even Topsail had only caught rare glimpses of him flitting through the forest, usually with one diplomat or another. With a dramatic sigh she stepped forward, loathe to leave the warmth of the tree but supposing she ought not be rude. The filly couldn’t help what had happened anymore than Topsail could. She is at the girls side in no time, and for a moment she allowed whatever motherly instincts she possessed to take over. A quick bump of her muzzle, a whiff of her scent to make sure she wasn’t bleeding or ill or otherwise harmed in any way. All seemed well, though she was perhaps a bit lost and a bit confused. “Hello. I’m Topsail.” she said softly. By now she no longer looked into faces to make sure her words were being conveyed; she had practiced her powers and honed them. “And you’re Seastory, right?” She said nothing more, nor did she explain how she knew. She knew a lot more than she was letting on.
topsail