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I don't remember the last time I slipped so peacefully into sleep. Somewhere in my head I wonder if I should be this calm, in a new home under new eyes that watch me fade into the arms of the night's embrace. But then I remember how it had been me to watch over Faeanne as she slipped into slumber, how I had waited up at night hoping for Mother to return, so that maybe she could return the action. The lonely cold of the mists that had never seemed like home to me, even if maybe I hadn't given them the chance to be. Yet I found that as night began to fall and the sun began to bleed red like a dying sparrow landing upon earth once more, I did not feel alone. My side was warm with the heat of another, a loving gaze resting upon my skin, and I fell into the arms of Morpheus with love trailed in inked calligraphy across my bones with a brush softer than silk and paler than dove feathers.
For the first time I can remember, I dream.
My legs don't hurt, when I run. When I laugh I don't press my ears to my head and look around to see if I have bothered someone. And when I run and kick my heels and play, someone chases after me. They don't appear throughout my dream, no matter how quickly I turn, they are a dark shadow that disappears and entices me to chase them in turn. Melodic laughter trails in my harks and warms bones I had once thought forever chilled. Only when we chase each other endlessly and I grow tired do I falter, falling into endless seas of grass that sway like lovely dancers that giggle and peer down at me from their tall, lean stalks in curiosity at who had fallen among them.
Only then is my shadowed friend revealed, endless red eyes and a glowing smile, reaching down to press a loving kiss to my cheek. I smile and weakly reach for her, this exercise-fueled exhaustion foreign to me, and as my eyelids flutter to a close beneath the sunlight streaming like butter behind her, I say her name.
"Momma."
"Momma..."
I stir, the same butter gold from my dream rousing me, and I sleepily blink until consciousness returns to my body in slow dregs. I yawn and look around for Momma within moments, her form not far as she wades into the blues of the water to dip her muzzle into its depths. On thin legs I stagger to my hooves and stumble towards her, thick and slow with sleep as I trip over my own legs and half-crash into her side, swaying away and finding my balance. I blink up at her slowly and smile tentatively, hoping she won't chide me for running into her.
I don't say anything, but I hesitantly slide up behind her wing, cheek pressed to her flank. I'm too shy to ask, too scared to wonder if it's allowed with no restrictions, but only desire to be against her side once more, as if in slumber I had grown so used to her presence that I could not be away from her once more. I'd never gotten used to speaking, to feeling like I was allowed to, and so I smile up at her, painfully sincere and shy, and hope she can see what I want to say.
Good morning Momma. I love you. Thank you for being here when I wake up like you promised.
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