"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Zilpah has to hold back a laugh - not a mean laugh, mind you, just - this is a Desert, of course sandstorms happen! Instead, she smiles gently and says, “Well… sandstorms do happen here when a storm rolls in sometimes, or there’s a lot of wind. But if you mean a funnel like that, then no, like she said, nothing like that before.” Come to think of it, it was a tad bit odd. Something that precise, and that isolated…. no, Zilpah hadn’t seen anything like that in the whole time she’d lived here. And she’d seen the freaking Desert flood, which was a miracle too. Oh well. Weird things happen here all the time.
But then the other filly (not the scared one, the one with the cool changing eyes) acts like one of the trips, and Zilpah can’t help but go into big-sister mode. “Of course I won’t tell! My little siblings are always running off and playing.” She nods then, confirming the older little girl’s words. “And she’s right. My Ima - I mean, my mom - is the Queen and she says everyone is welcome here. We can be your family. I’m Zilpah, by the way. What are your names?” She pauses and smiles shyly, an idea just now occurring to her. “Ummm… I don’t have any kids yet… I could be your mom if you want… ”
Zilpah is more than seven years old. It’s about damn time she had some kids.
Do I really need a mother? What a stupid question, of course I need a mother, especially in a strange, unforgiving land like this desert. Of all the places my mother could have dropped me, why did she pick here? But I suppose it could be worse. At least this land wasn’t totally barren, despite my first impression. I’d be found, after all, and by nice horses at that. I must always look at my glass as half full instead of half empty, right? Sand was easy enough to learn to live with, and if I really stopped to think about it, the heat wasn’t even all that bad. Yes, it could always be worse.
“I’d like a mother.” I say quietly, staring at the sand at my feet. The grains seemed to find my hooves like a magnet, moving up them and to my fetlocks, caressing my small legs tenderly. How strange, I thought, now all but ignoring the other two as I watched the sand move. It pulled and swayed like the tide of the ocean, like it was breathing! And in a way, it was. As I breathed, so did the sands. My breaths were the force that pulled and pushed the sands, and with a start I looked back at the other two. “I…I think I made the sandstorm.” I say quietly, not daring to actually believe even my own words. Its an absurd thought; I’m nothing but an orphan filly, not a sorceress of any type. Or am I? I suppose its possible. Mother had never mentioned who my father was, and I learned not to ask questions about him. I’d certainly never seen mother do anything out of the ordinary. In fact, save for her pink face, she was entirely normal. Like me, right? But even as my breathing quickens at my revelation, so does the movement of the sands. It climbs my legs, spilling down behind my knees and back onto the ground. “I don’t know how I’m doing this. Its never happened before. And I don’t know how to make it stop!” Panic claws at my voice, but I swallow it down, now fearing what my unchecked emotions could create. “Will you still have me, even if this is my doing?” Panic is now replaced with fear and doubt, and my eyes search the other two pairs, seeking acceptance despite this new problem.
