Take notice of what light does...to everything.

[Brine]

Brine

“Look,” Ruthless is first to notice—as she often is—the oncoming company decorated in curiosity and confidence. The golden child nods her head to her mother as if to say , come on, we need this.

The shadowed mother lets out a long sigh, allowing the steam particles from her breath to ease into the evening air. Oh, how she longed for her daughter to look at her in the same regard the looks at strangers: with hope, anticipation, promise.

How could her little golden world do that though, when all Brine has to offer are empty packages of maybes, and little certainty. Her light is burning out, and Brine is running out of matches.

So, she turns. Like any other mother, she withholds her protest for the sake of her child. Her hesitancy is vibrantly painted across her face like a stop sign. Ruthless might see promise in everyone, but Brine sees disappointment. She sees distrust.

She sees the hidden snuff behind every false smile—ready to suffocate the oxygen from every last flame burning.

Ruthless, however, is a walking forest fire. She has no fear.

It only takes minutes before they pause at a comfortable distance. Brine watches as the golden stallion comes to a halt with a little one in tow. Her mothering heart reaches out to him, though she dares not show it. Motherhood had stripped her from her hatred of children; having found a new soft spot for little ones.

You’re OK.

His voice is the first male voice she had heard since last year—and while Ruthless finds his tone soothing—Brine nearly leaps from her stance. It prickles her ears and triggers spikes to rise across her spine, her wings uncomfortably tighten around her stomach as a desperately needed safety blanket. She fades into a blank stare, her mind wandering.

Please, please. I said no, I said stop.

“But darling, we have only just started.

The soft touch of a velvet muzzle breaks her from her jailed mind, looking to see her little sun staring at her with hazel brown eyes. If Brine could blush, her cheeks would have popped a vibrant pink of embarrassment as Ruthless again chooses to be the strong pillar surrounded by rubble and demolished brick.

“Hello,” her voice is alien to her, not the warm soft tone she has grown accustom to using, but then again this isn’t the company she is used to speaking with.

Ruthless notices her mother falter, an observation she had grown far too used to.

“Hi!” Her voice is light-hearted, and airy. When she speaks the field lights up with her energy; begging to be included. Ruthless could ignite an entire globe with her aura, like a lone light hung on the cabin porch with insects drawn to her glow.

“I am Ruthless,” and with that—ever so nonchalantly—the child walks over to close the gap, leaning forward to offer her nose in greeting; inhaling the odd, foreign scent that wafts from their coats. “That is my mother, Brine. You guys smell delicious!”

Brine internally winces. Baby Ruth had never been one for small talk, like a Labrador she forced herself to your lap and demanded to be loved and accepted. Her ignorance to danger only a symptom of a sheltered life. A life Brine would die to hold true.

The shadowed mare nods in acknowledgment to her daughter’s poorly executed introduction, however an introduction none the less. As always, Ruthless is stepping up to the plate while her mom cowers in the corner. A mouse and a cat, can you guess who is who?

For a second—perhaps maybe two—silence bestows them. Ruthless glances back at her wilting mother, an expression of desperation. They needed a home. They needed these two.

All Brine must do is respond.

Yet, her throat is full, and her mouth tightened.

Speak, God damnit. Speak.

“Mph,” her throat clears and in the most cautious way, “we have—we are homeless. We are hoping to find a place—I want to find a place for Ruthless. I as well, but… Ruthless needs somewhere to go. I—I can’t, I can’t do enough for her myself.”

Sudden realization crashes over the somber roan. A child raising a child, this is all it was. For too long she had continued to let Ruth down, and today would be her daughter’s time. It is Ruth’s time to do something with her life. Her golden child needed the chance to shine, and all Brine had done was cast shadows over her chance.

Not this time.

Even if it meant saying goodbye until next time.

Ruthless glances back at her mother, horrified at the idea. Though she does not say anything, not a thing at all, because Brine knows deep down Ruth sees it too. She sees the baggage hung carelessly across her
mother’s conscious, constantly ripping her from progress. She sees her mother thrive, only to be startled into a hole by the break of a nearby branch.

And what sort of life is that for her child?

take notice of what light does—to everything

@[Aten]