The question slid past her mane and into her pinned ears with such a quiet that the lack of sound rattled her until her teeth clacked. In response her feathers all lifted at once, the ones at the base of her tail fanning out like a family of knives, while her head snaked around to the side to regard the Wildfire with a cold, biting stare. Her gaze held him firm for several breaths, or lack thereof, before it was finally touched by his flames and warmed; the blue swimming to life beneath the melting of the ice. Her feathers settled rapidly back to normal, so tight they laid like dragon scales in their sleekness against her body. A dryness ran against her tongue, and she wondered if it too weren't caused by the moisture evaporated in Gaucho's presence.

Under his heat, under his regard, under his inquiry she burned and the sensation made her squirm inside. Because, why was he there? That initial desire to shout at Gaucho about how she couldn't account for every tiny thing the boy did (what did she know of what he did?), or how she could barely be expected to watch him all the time (when did she watch him?), and how he was old enough to know better (what had she taught him?). Well, that initial feeling subsided and then crawled away to die inside of her with the smothering of his flames, and most importantly, the truth to his words.

In the end, she was his mother, and it was her job to oversee the rearing of her child. Gaucho, the father (she hoped), could play a role in the life of a foal, but it was not the same sort of responsibility that a mother toted around. A father cast a shadow to guide and hoof steps to fill. A father ensured safety, not just of the child, not just of the mother, but of everything they needed and used. In those regards, Gaucho had risen to the occasion without complaint. What had she done? I stayed she thought miserably. Suddenly all those original fears of failing the boy resurfaced within her, striking a certain panic that made her realize just how selfishly she'd still managed to push her precious son away. Maybe she wasn't physically running any more (wouldn't Tandavi be proud), but she was no more present for her presence.

"I can't," she whispered then, hoping her tone would not betray the terror running rampant in her thoughts; bleeding into her veins. She licked her lips before continuing, as if the movement might bring comfort or confidence, or at least something to let those tight words slide out on. "I can't do this Gaucho!" It was not immediately apparent what this she was referring to. The parenting of her child? The little family gathering between son, mother, and Gaucho? Facing the truth of her own short comings?

Surely all of them, but what she meant was this, this: "The herd is a healthy size with willing minds and able bodies," she went on, stronger now, the rattle of emotion having left her with that exasperated outcry. Embarrassed at her inabilities Ampere had since turned her gaze away, unable to see the disappointment she'd find on Gaucho's facade, unwilling to face her own reflected in the gleam of his eyes.
her nostrils flared with a sigh. "I'm running around doing two ranks, and expected to raise a son in-between it all. I just can't, I am only one horse." Her secret organization was another ingredient to the mix, but somehow she wasn't willing to complain about that; more self serving greed.