06-28-2019, 06:36 PM
I’m thinking about my mothers, mostly because it’s convenient to muse for a moment about the similarities I share with the stallion I’m about to meet since it probably won’t come up organically in conversation. I’ve been avoiding the forest because the sharp acidic smell of my birth mother’s horrid blood slapped me in the face there just the other day and I knew she had been hunting, knew it had gone sourly and she would be looking for more blood. It’s why I keep gravitating to the meadow, with the open spaces. The mare that acted as my sire could still sneak up on me here but that shadow has other places to lurk now, surely. She won’t need to harass me. I don’t miss them, don’t want them to resurface again, because I’m enjoying my return to Beqanna and the friends I have made so far. I think that’s why I instantly like the pale-gold stallion that comes over to say hello - no one in my family is ever such a sunny colour so it looks bright and warm to me. We’re all black and shades of blacker than black. “Hello!” I sing back, the brightness of my voice is at odds with my appearance, and I'm already at ease with the kind greeting I’ve gotten. If someone came over and asked me how I was doing, that must surely mean they’re genuinely interested, right? And it doesn’t seem like he’s staring unnecessarily at the way my cheeks are hollow and malformed or the curve sharp edge of my upper lip that hides the rows of gleaming black teeth hidden within. I don’t remember the last time someone asked how I was doing. How do I even answer that? I guess the truth couldn't hurt! “Why I’m doing just super! How about you?” |
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