i'm afraid i'm not pious - heartfire

[aletta]

She hadn’t gone far.

Once Aletta had found her, there was nothing she could do but stay. Part of her had argued to leave the child. Go, she had told herself. The mother would be back, eventually. And wasn’t this the mother’s fault? What kind of dam in her right mind left a child this young alone?

Sabra - bleeding and broken - comes into her mind, moaning about girls and graves. 
Brynn - sad-eyed and hollow - haunts her memories, with stories about thefts and the Donietas.

So the gray mare waits.
And waits. 

The sun peaks and starts to descend in the west. Aletta grazes on the meadow grasses nearby, keeping an attentive eye on the golden filly. The gray mare tries not to grow irritable with the heat (but she has always hated humidity - and the flies!) Her white tail swishes in annoyance as she stops to look for the filly again, keeps an almost vigilant watch on the girl from where she stood. 

Another mare comes with a colt by her side but when the boy grows too rambunctious (too close), Aletta pins her ears and stamps her front leg in disapproval. The pair doesn’t stay long after that. The summer wind drifts in; the child’s mother, unfortunately, does not. 

When the sun starts sinking low does the pale mare notice the abrupt motion of the girl’s head raise up, as if she was suddenly unaware of where she was. The silver mare lifted her own and watched the filly, wondering if the child had perhaps caught the scent of her mother. Her little nostrils flare and the foal skittishly stands. Aletta nickered gently - letting the girl know she was there - and the poor child’s face crumpled. 

Aletta wasn’t a mind-reader (and she kept waiting for the child to speak - why hadn’t she?) but the look on her young face was clear enough before the tears began to run: fear.

@[Heartfire] memaw meet glam