09-20-2017, 09:30 AM
The flapping of wings – she just knows it are wings, not who has told her – makes her turn her attention away from the strangely familiar black and red and golden colt. Curious, but fearful, eyes turn towards the newcomer. Black and gold. She blinks her ruby eyes at him, meeting his gaze, before following it towards the colt. What was going on?
Just when she’s about to take a step forwards towards the biggest male, who’s presence screamed ‘father figure’ to her, when the golden tipped boy does. Silently she watches them, her ears twitching when she hears him call the golden winged one ‘dad’. But it was the distress in the colt’s voice that added to her own distress and like him, she wanted – needed – support.
This time she doesn’t murmur ‘mama’, but instead whinnies loud and shrill. Mama should answer and she would come, right? Her instincts tell her that a mother should do just that. She keeps completely silent, as if that would make it easier to hear her mother, but it stays silent around her.
By the time she takes a breath again – which she held to be entirely silent – tears are clouding her vision. Mama didn’t answer. The realisation makes her tremble and sharply inhale, tears are rolling down her cheeks. Slowly her ruby eyes move towards the two black males, silently pleading for someone, something, to come or happen. Her whinny is much softer this time, and the inky black filly takes a few wobbly steps in their direction.
And another, and another. She’s carefully watching them, looking if they will back away or not. Something tells her they won’t, just like she knows instinctively she feels comfortable around them. But what if they would turn away? Chewing like only a foal would do, she reaches out towards the biggest one.
Just when she’s about to take a step forwards towards the biggest male, who’s presence screamed ‘father figure’ to her, when the golden tipped boy does. Silently she watches them, her ears twitching when she hears him call the golden winged one ‘dad’. But it was the distress in the colt’s voice that added to her own distress and like him, she wanted – needed – support.
This time she doesn’t murmur ‘mama’, but instead whinnies loud and shrill. Mama should answer and she would come, right? Her instincts tell her that a mother should do just that. She keeps completely silent, as if that would make it easier to hear her mother, but it stays silent around her.
By the time she takes a breath again – which she held to be entirely silent – tears are clouding her vision. Mama didn’t answer. The realisation makes her tremble and sharply inhale, tears are rolling down her cheeks. Slowly her ruby eyes move towards the two black males, silently pleading for someone, something, to come or happen. Her whinny is much softer this time, and the inky black filly takes a few wobbly steps in their direction.
And another, and another. She’s carefully watching them, looking if they will back away or not. Something tells her they won’t, just like she knows instinctively she feels comfortable around them. But what if they would turn away? Chewing like only a foal would do, she reaches out towards the biggest one.