04-04-2019, 10:09 PM
She had escaped.
A guilty flinch shivered through her at the thought, but... it was true, wasn't it? That's what it felt like, anyway. Escape. Freedom. At least for a little while. Delicate hooves carried her from the depths of the forest, down the river bed where she had run when Mama flew into another of her rages. It wasn't always like that.
Most days, she was fine. Over protective, but gentle and loving, telling far reaching stories to her strange little daughter and teaching her about the world. Those were her earliest memories of Mama, the good ones. Then one day, something shifted. Mama had come back from a flight, a distant, glossy look in her eyes. She didn't recognize Rebelle. The filly had thought it a joke at first. Why else wouldn't Mama know her name, or shy from her touch? But then ther girl had pushed too hard, gotten too close, and the opalescent mare had struck out like a serpent. Blood seeped from the filly's cheek where her mother had snapped at her, and there was no one near to rescue her.
Instead, she'd run to where the river wound through the trees, diving deep despite the water stinging her cheek, and stayed there amid the muck and gloom for several hours, until she felt safe to surface again. When she returned, her mother had been frantically searching the nearby woods. Mama didn't remember biting her, and looked hurt when her daughter flinched away when she tried to touch the mark on her face. They both cried when Rebelled tried to explain what had happened, as confused as the mare she was talking to.
It was a while before anything similar occurred again, but not the last time at all. In fact, the events where Mama's mind seemed to wander, to be replaced by someone hateful and hurtful, or sometimes just sad, seemed to be happening more frequently as the year moved on. Rebelle learned to wander when the far away look came to her mother's face, staying close enough but still out of sight while the madness gripped the beautiful mare who'd borne her.
One good day, they'd been found. Mama had almost tried to move them off until the voice was recognized, and then wearily greeted a new face. He was her brother, she learned. He hadn't known where Mama had gone, worried alongside his twin, who she also hadn't known about. Raul was his name, and he grinned at me through the dense curtain of his forelock when Mama introduced us. They did not much look alike, Raul and Rebelle, but he looked plenty like Mama.
She was still shy. This was the first horse she had met who was not her mother, and he was so big. He also had his own family, she learned by listening. His mother and sister were welcome to join them back at the Cove. It was an offer politely but flatly refused.
The next day, mama was worse than ever. Raving about angels and dragons and Death, one wing dragged limply along the forest mulch as she paced erratically, and Rebelle couldn't return for three days. This marked the worsening in her mother's condition.
Finally, in the heart of summer and the depths of the forest, she knew she couldn't stay there any longer. Mama seemed to know it too.
"I love you, Rebelle. Please believe that that. No matter what happens, or where you go. Please believe that."
"I do, Mama. I love you, too."
They'd murmured together one night in an altogether too rare moment of peace. The next day, Rebelle woke to a sharp pain in her rigid mane, her mother trying to tear the fin from her crest. Spitting rabidly, the blue mare screamed incoherently as her daughter backed away in tears of pain and fear. She turned and ran full out for the river, the raging storm that was her mother hot on her heels.
"Fucking sea-devil spawn! Why can't you leave me be, you soul-sucking leech!" The words echoed on the trees, clattering on the girl's ears like stones in a still pool. She sobbed as her feet found the well worn path to the river, hoping she could outrun the insane creature behind her. Hoping she could reach the water, and that her mother wouldn't try to follow her into it. The world bled together in a whirl of green and black and blue, blurred and blotted by the tears streaking her face. She was essentially running blind, but it soon didn't matter.
Slippery gravel and then chill water surrounded her. She leapt the last length, falling into the middle of the river gracefully, thankful for the good fortune that had let her escape.
"Don't even think about coming back, Rebelle. Don't even think it. Or I'll tear you apart."
It was the last thing she heard as the water closed over her head, and she could almost swear through everything... those last words had been her true mother, not the the furious alter ego. She also knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would heed those last words. She would not be coming back again.
Sabra had at last broken too far too repair, and she knew it too. It was her final gift, fighting back long enough to let her daughter escape before the darkness took hold again, and Death began to whisper in her ear once more. A ruby smear sinking beneath the river's surface was the last she would see of her youngest child.
Rebelle emerged, soaking and shaking and scared past bearing in a wide, smooth expanse of the river. Tall trees did not surround her. Instead, she climbed up the bank into a broad swath of brilliantly green grasses, dotted here and there with flowers she had never seen before, with the sun beating strongly on her back. She steamed gently as she stood there, absorbing it all. She couldn't go back, but this, this seemed like a good place. A safe place, even. And for now, she was alone. She could breath, regain herself a bit before striking out. Perhaps she would seek her brother. Perhaps not... he had his own family, after all. It shouldn't fall to him to take on his scrawny sister too. Still. She knew no one else. Had no one else.
Sopping wet on the river bank, with a scarred cheek and a bloody crest, and a body that would be naturally lithe in adulthood, but only looked scrawny and underfed now, she looked as pathetic as she felt. But the light still shone beautifully on the scales of her back, and stubborn determination still shone in her cloudless blue eyes. For better or worse, she was her mother's daughter. She would survive.
A guilty flinch shivered through her at the thought, but... it was true, wasn't it? That's what it felt like, anyway. Escape. Freedom. At least for a little while. Delicate hooves carried her from the depths of the forest, down the river bed where she had run when Mama flew into another of her rages. It wasn't always like that.
Most days, she was fine. Over protective, but gentle and loving, telling far reaching stories to her strange little daughter and teaching her about the world. Those were her earliest memories of Mama, the good ones. Then one day, something shifted. Mama had come back from a flight, a distant, glossy look in her eyes. She didn't recognize Rebelle. The filly had thought it a joke at first. Why else wouldn't Mama know her name, or shy from her touch? But then ther girl had pushed too hard, gotten too close, and the opalescent mare had struck out like a serpent. Blood seeped from the filly's cheek where her mother had snapped at her, and there was no one near to rescue her.
Instead, she'd run to where the river wound through the trees, diving deep despite the water stinging her cheek, and stayed there amid the muck and gloom for several hours, until she felt safe to surface again. When she returned, her mother had been frantically searching the nearby woods. Mama didn't remember biting her, and looked hurt when her daughter flinched away when she tried to touch the mark on her face. They both cried when Rebelled tried to explain what had happened, as confused as the mare she was talking to.
It was a while before anything similar occurred again, but not the last time at all. In fact, the events where Mama's mind seemed to wander, to be replaced by someone hateful and hurtful, or sometimes just sad, seemed to be happening more frequently as the year moved on. Rebelle learned to wander when the far away look came to her mother's face, staying close enough but still out of sight while the madness gripped the beautiful mare who'd borne her.
One good day, they'd been found. Mama had almost tried to move them off until the voice was recognized, and then wearily greeted a new face. He was her brother, she learned. He hadn't known where Mama had gone, worried alongside his twin, who she also hadn't known about. Raul was his name, and he grinned at me through the dense curtain of his forelock when Mama introduced us. They did not much look alike, Raul and Rebelle, but he looked plenty like Mama.
She was still shy. This was the first horse she had met who was not her mother, and he was so big. He also had his own family, she learned by listening. His mother and sister were welcome to join them back at the Cove. It was an offer politely but flatly refused.
The next day, mama was worse than ever. Raving about angels and dragons and Death, one wing dragged limply along the forest mulch as she paced erratically, and Rebelle couldn't return for three days. This marked the worsening in her mother's condition.
Finally, in the heart of summer and the depths of the forest, she knew she couldn't stay there any longer. Mama seemed to know it too.
"I love you, Rebelle. Please believe that that. No matter what happens, or where you go. Please believe that."
"I do, Mama. I love you, too."
They'd murmured together one night in an altogether too rare moment of peace. The next day, Rebelle woke to a sharp pain in her rigid mane, her mother trying to tear the fin from her crest. Spitting rabidly, the blue mare screamed incoherently as her daughter backed away in tears of pain and fear. She turned and ran full out for the river, the raging storm that was her mother hot on her heels.
"Fucking sea-devil spawn! Why can't you leave me be, you soul-sucking leech!" The words echoed on the trees, clattering on the girl's ears like stones in a still pool. She sobbed as her feet found the well worn path to the river, hoping she could outrun the insane creature behind her. Hoping she could reach the water, and that her mother wouldn't try to follow her into it. The world bled together in a whirl of green and black and blue, blurred and blotted by the tears streaking her face. She was essentially running blind, but it soon didn't matter.
Slippery gravel and then chill water surrounded her. She leapt the last length, falling into the middle of the river gracefully, thankful for the good fortune that had let her escape.
"Don't even think about coming back, Rebelle. Don't even think it. Or I'll tear you apart."
It was the last thing she heard as the water closed over her head, and she could almost swear through everything... those last words had been her true mother, not the the furious alter ego. She also knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would heed those last words. She would not be coming back again.
Sabra had at last broken too far too repair, and she knew it too. It was her final gift, fighting back long enough to let her daughter escape before the darkness took hold again, and Death began to whisper in her ear once more. A ruby smear sinking beneath the river's surface was the last she would see of her youngest child.
Rebelle emerged, soaking and shaking and scared past bearing in a wide, smooth expanse of the river. Tall trees did not surround her. Instead, she climbed up the bank into a broad swath of brilliantly green grasses, dotted here and there with flowers she had never seen before, with the sun beating strongly on her back. She steamed gently as she stood there, absorbing it all. She couldn't go back, but this, this seemed like a good place. A safe place, even. And for now, she was alone. She could breath, regain herself a bit before striking out. Perhaps she would seek her brother. Perhaps not... he had his own family, after all. It shouldn't fall to him to take on his scrawny sister too. Still. She knew no one else. Had no one else.
Sopping wet on the river bank, with a scarred cheek and a bloody crest, and a body that would be naturally lithe in adulthood, but only looked scrawny and underfed now, she looked as pathetic as she felt. But the light still shone beautifully on the scales of her back, and stubborn determination still shone in her cloudless blue eyes. For better or worse, she was her mother's daughter. She would survive.
