it was all a dream...
Slightly.
Upon standing, the first thing she does is turn to check on her squirming child and clean her—her, she realizes with a sad smile, he had wanted a little girl—off. She’s black, just like him, but with her mommy’s particular brand of spots. He’d had a few, but not nearly as many. She noses her around, inspects every little inch and comes to the conclusion that her daughter is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
“What did you name her?” Her mother asks, after tentatively moving forwards to help inspect her newest grandchild.
A cold wind blows from the north, bringing with it the smell of frost and still that isn’t what chills her down to the bone. She never thought about what she was going to name a girl, or even a boy if she’d had one. So much had happened in such a short span of time that her only concern had been staying alive. He had his ideas, though. One name in particular still stood out. She didn’t really like it at the time (if she were being honest, she had laughed when he suggested it; what a ridiculous name for a girl), but now... now is different. “Ashr,” she says finally and the filly looks up at her curiously.
“Her name is Ashr.”
“It’s pretty,” her mother grins knowingly. “Just like her.”
--
Ashr doesn’t remember what happens before the water; what led up to it, what chased them into it. But there had been screaming. And blood everywhere. Her mother had told her to run, just run—but the rest of it is blank. Her dark head shoots up above the waves and she coughs up fluid, she gasps for air but it hurts. Everything hurts. It feels like sharp ice is plucking at her sides, cold teeth biting through the skin. The water is so cold that it burns and the frozen shore seems so very far, but she continues to kick—to swim, until she’s finally able to pull herself up on the nearest patch of thick ice.
Her teeth start to chatter.
She trembles while she frantically searches the dark rolling waves for signs of something—anything. “Mama!” She cries out, though the cold air nearly strangles her. Ashr paces the patches of ice, hopping over the cracks; she thinks she sees something, a head maybe bobbing above the water—but it’s just another chunk of ice. “Gramma...” Ashr whispers hoarsely, her legs buckling. There are chips of ice clinging stubbornly to her wet baby fluff; the wind doesn’t help, it carries with it wisps of snow and frost and once she lies down, she stays down. She lets the snow fall, wants it to bury her and she almost falls asleep underneath it all—almost, but someone is coming. There’s a shadow looming over her now and she almost wants to lift her head to look, wants to see the smiling face of her mama but she knows better than that. Everyone is gone. It’s just her now.
They’re talking, whoever it is, though their voice is muffled and seems very far away.
She flicks her ears back and closes her tired eyes.
Let them talk.