be mine, be mine, be mine

[Nashua]

They never held a funeral for his mother.

It had been something else she never talked about - the traditions of Guardians gone to the next life. All Nashua remembers from those childhood stories had been remembrances of a willow grove. "What better place to hear them?" she had once told him, when Nash had asked why there had been ancient Willows instead of towering Sequoias. Liliana had talked about the sound they made as they rustled through the branches, that when branches with the weeping leaves parted just so, you knew a soul passing through. You knew someone you loved was close.

There are no Willow trees in Taiga. And even if he wished there was, the striped stallion can't bring himself to ask Borderline or Memorie to grow them. Some things seem better to keep separate.

Because the Willows in Paraiso seem as sacred as the Redwoods are to Taiga.

There had been no funeral for Lilliana and perhaps it had been better that way. Like the way she became something else that Yanhua couldn't talk about, the way that Leilan's portals remained open seasons after his Midsummer Festival. He could join them in pretending that there was a chance that she was coming back. But he still wondered sometimes, what she would have wanted.

So, in the rare quiet of a morning where it is only he and Bolder heading towards Hyaline for another lesson with Mazikeen, he finds himself whispering to the wind. He does it, sometimes, when it changes direction. Nash likes to think that if he murmurs it enough, there might be a breeze that could get a message to her, wherever she was.

"Bolder," he cuts out as his yearling son tries on a new color. Spring has brought vibrant shades and with it, so many different hues to try on. The young pegasus hasn't quite learned that this skill is something that turns Nashua's blood cold, that sinks something to the very pit of his soul. Bolder becomes the epitome of Spring, turning into a viridian shade of green and grins. The colt spreads his wings and moves further into the forest, intent on exploring all the new variations of patterns that he could find.

Nashua took a moment to stretch out his speckled wings and moved towards the River, eager for a drink. Flying was one thing; he didn't enjoy walking long routes. Though he can hardly make out the shape of his young son as he vanishes deeper into the woods, he is looking forward to a time when Bolder can accompany him in the air.

He stops from drinking because a colt - one too young to be wandering alone, Nash thinks - approaches him. Nash watches the young foal and then lowers his head (an action that comes as second nature after raising five children) to the boy, "I am." Lilliana's son says, peering into a shade of blue that makes him ache. He summons a smile for the black-and-white youth, "and who are you?"

NASHUA

@[Benjamen]