Love, she had spoken of many types of love. I gathered the feeling that Ophelia knew the intricate workings of the world better than I, but I had no way of knowing the scope of the difference. She had said that the love a child and that of a sister is different, and that I can understand. This pretty mare is my aunt, and while I do not yet love her, I think that some day it would be possible. However, she would never be as close to me as my mother, or even my father, who I had only met once upon my birth and only half remember. He was large, this I recall. I also have a feel that he was very powerful, but that is not reflected in my own, crooked body.

A frown takes up my youthful face again, replacing it with another serious expression better suited for the elderly. I was confused by this new type of love that she introduces in a sidelong manner. For one, I did not understand how you could be judged as worthy or not to hold affection for another being. I also had no real concept of what this type of love was. For a young colt, romance would be the farthest thing from his mind, and that follows through in me. I look at her with soft eyes, my face taking on an encouraging expression. "I think everyone should have the right to love. This world is a mess that changes constantly, and only the company you keep can be constant," my words are pretty quiet, calm, and reflective, but there is still a bit of uncertainty in my voice that comes with my lack of experience. I had no idea if my concept of love applied here. "To not allow yourself to love would make this world very lonely, Ophelia. I think you should feel lucky to have a strong bond with another because that keeps you grounded."

I smile sheepishly at the large expanse of words that suddenly flood the air. I sound like a chatterbox, don't I? I glance down at the red earth before picking back up to listen to her words, which also flow out like a continuous stream. Her next statement makes sense to me, though I also disagree with her in this regard. I look up at her face, to her bicolored eyes that seem distant. Mother had looks like that sometimes, often when she was deep in thought. I wondered what Ophelia had seen in this world that was worth forgetting. I had experienced an opposite frustration - forgetting the things I wanted to keep in tact.

"I think forgetting is most troublesome," I throw out my thoughts on the matter quite swiftly. "Perhaps the things you'd most like to forget are important to know. Lessons." I nod to myself, thinking that it sounded fairly clever, for such a young colt. Ophelia would probably not take my words to heart, just shake them off as the words of a child. I hoped, though, that she would see me as worthy of considering a confidant. I wanted to share her problems, and quite suddenly realized that I held her dear already. It was a quick connection, one that formed without thinking, but it felt natural. Maybe this is why mother always spoke of her.