lost to these linens / any

[sochi]

Mother had told her that perhaps her other self was not the greatest thing to show to others. When Sochi asked why, mother had explained that big cats who weren’t also horses tending to be predator to horses, so people might think she was dangerous. Sloene was a careful mare, and she wanted Sochi to be careful too. The dark-colored filly vaguely remembers all this, but she also feels the pull of the tiger in a way her mother can’t imagine. And, well, children tend to forgot instructions when you leave them in the care of the fae (who certainly aren’t threatened by a tiger cub) and wander away.

So the girl who is usually a dark-colored filly with an iridescent blue face is right now a feline instead, not quite a cub but certainly an adolescent. Her orange pelt is striped with black, and she is practicing her sneaking. Sochi knows that cats are supposed to be quiet and fast, silent hunters, but her paws feel large and clumsy, and she often steps on a branch that cracks or leaves that rustle. Right now she’s carefully – careful, careful, quiet – following a filly through the underbrush. Her theory today is that if she steps every time the girl steps, she won’t hear her over her own footsteps. And practice is making a difference, because Sochi is at least quieter than a sneaking horse could ever be, even if she’s not as quiet as a tiger should be.

All too soon, the filly leaves the underbrush and heads out into the open, walking the short distance towards the fresh water flowing in the babbling stream. It’s now or never the tiger thinks, crouched at the edge of the grasses; if she’s going to pounce, it has to be before there is no cover for her to come out of. It never occurs to her that she might be dangerous; she just wants to play. Sloene’s warnings about tigers are totally forgotten. So she pounces – flinging herself from the brush with a reactive laugh towards the filly, preemptively calling out, “I got you! Tag! You’re it!”