m a z i k e e n .
For about the thousandth time, Mazikeen is so grateful for the return of her emotions as she stands with Myrna. Although Malik had not seemed to suffer greatly for being raised by her uncaring self, this was better - wasn’t it? Feeling the way the filly’s smile banishes her doubt and grief, the beyond wonderful joy of having her choose to be close to Mazikeen rather than forced into it. These moments are precious and sweet and mean everything to the white mare who once again laughs with warmth as Myrna asks when she can meet her mom-mom.
“Your grandma. But you can call her mom-mom if you want.” Mazikeen teases the filly’s ears a little before answering. “Soon, I hope. When we’re hunting for frogs we’ll see if we can find her.” Beqanna was a big place and she was not sure where Agetta might be. They could go to Ischia and ask Mazikeen’s sister, but she had never sought Beyza out before and it was far too close to Tephra and Islandres for her liking. So she just had to hope to see a glimpse of her mom whenever she found the desire to leave Hyaline again.
“And my dad too, if we’re lucky.” Bringing up the subject of dads was always a little bit like shouting in the mountains - the potential of it starting an avalanche that would bury her under less-pleasant emotions was always there. With stubbornness, Mazikeen focuses on her own rather than Myrna's father - thinking of the sad, kind stallion who had helped raise her. “Your grandpa.” It entertains Mazikeen to think of her parents with these names - though she’s sure they’ve both been called them before. Or, at least, have had grandchildren before.
|
Viszla
