Mother was gone, off attending to some sort of alliance business. I was pouty if I am perfectly honest with myself, I had wanted to be a soldier, to be a fighter. Too young I was told, wait until you’re older. I didn’t want to wait, I wanted to be grown, to be more than some feeble child no one took seriously. I was capable I thought, capable of learning the ropes, of training my muscles and my mind. I stomp through the meadows, the bright green shoots tickling at my stilts, though they cannot bring a smile to my face.
A break in the air reaches my ringing ears, though it is muffled I manage to know the sound. It was Reuen’s cry, I could know no different, the agonized tones a sullen and familiar tune. I knew I had to see what was the matter, there was really no telling with the slow minded mare, trouble tended to find her. My pace is quick, sure footed for a youngling, picking my way through the grasses and budding flowers. She flounders, a mess of sweat and blood, red running down her bodice. She was always covered in blood wasn’t she? The metallic scent reaching my nose, and a scrunch my maw at the invasiveness of it.
I am a silent watcher, a witness to what some called the ‘miracle of life.’ It was a mess, fluids and insides leaked about the pristine terra, a horrific Christmas scene. Birds came then, drawn to the pool of life that beseeched the earth, their calls made me on edge. I wouldn’t let them have the child, rearing with a shriek at the sky, a warning of what was to come should the scavengers descend. Reuen looks as confused as she ever was, peering down at the child uttering how she has broken it. ”Reuen,”I find my words gently calling to her, “you have to clean it Reuen.” I press, oddly somehow one tends to become the adult, mimicry of words my mother has spoken.
Tentatively I approach, unsure of how welcome I am to such a personal experience. ”It’s not broken, it’s just dirty, he’s just dirty.” I correct myself, my copper gaze studying the remnants of birth.
