cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
It made as little sense for her to dwell on the blood perpetually painting her coat is it would for a bird to dwell on the wind. For her, it is a fact of life. One that would plague her until the very end of her days. Still, even if she could change, she wouldn’t wish to. Despite the pain and the gore, it gives her an eternal, impossible to deny link to her father. She had blindly adored him as child (still does, if she is being entirely honest), and though she had long since learned that the man who sired her is far from perfect, she would never deny such a distinguishable inheritance.
And she would never give anyone cause to question whether she truly has the strength to bear it.
So she brushes his concerns aside as one might shoo a fly, changing the subject with an airy lack of concern and a beguiling smile. Perhaps Corban didn’t entirely believe her assertions, but she wouldn’t give him reason to give those concerns credence. Even if there was the faintest tinge of accuracy to them. Fortunately he does not push the matter, giving in to the subject change easily enough. A laugh escapes her lips at his teasing, and she reaches out and tugs lightly on a lock of green hair in playful reprimand. “I’m so lucky to have a friend that watches out for me like that,” she quips in return, blue eyes glinting with humor behind her mask. “Lest I perish with loneliness!”
As he continues, her smile eases, slipping from bright humor to warm understanding. If anyone knew of living in another’s shadow, it is the red and white mare. Her mother casts a long shadow, one impossible to live up to. In any case, she really has no aspirations to be anything like the icy-eyed queen who knows far too much.
“You absolutely deserve to having something of your own,” she asserts without hesitation, her belief in the words plain. “I’m sure Mom will be happy to have you on.” Her lips tilt in wry amusement then, knowing how rarely her mother expresses genuine happiness. Still, she doesn’t doubt Heartfire would be pleased to have Corbin join the ranks. “Well,” she qualifies, head bobbing in amused irreverence, “happy might be a strong word. I’m not sure she’s ever happy.” She laughs faintly at that. “But she’d certainly be amenable.”
Though Brazen doesn’t realize it, her words make quite clear the rebellious nature of her relationship with her mother. But then, no one has ever accused Heartfire of being an easy woman. And certainly Brazen, given her parentage, is no pushover either.
Brazen
