show me how defenseless you really are.

“SHUT UP!”

She yells, bellows, her voice (so gentle before, I had barely even noticed it) is like a roar now. An angry roar. It hits me like a wave, shutting me up mid-cry with jaw hanging open and everything, my eyes widening in surprise more than anything else. What the crap?!??!??????? My expression screams in the silence that suddenly rings with the absence of my irritable shrieks—and my little mind can’t grasp at understanding for long. Probably not even a second later, she smashes her hooves into the ground. She is large, hulking, and strong; I can feel the ground vibrate beneath me, and I stiffen before she ushers me forward.

Her—Ma, I finally decide, she is my Ma—shepherding is hardly gentle, but should I really expect it to be? I know nothing else, after all (having thus far spent a whopping five minutes in this strange place), and so I do not anticipate anything but this from her. Being no delicate flower myself, I accept it without question, my adolescence driving me to obey despite the stubborn burning of my ignorant heart. Snorting, I—stomp—as fast as I can to where she directs. Tucking my white face beneath her belly, my lips finally find what instincts encourage me to, gums latching onto life as I suckle vigorously.

Drink; that is what she says, so that is what I must be doing, what this is called, and the word is filed away among the handful of others that my fuzzy ears cup into comprehension. And—Sabre. Perhaps there is something primal in every newborn. Some type of primitive need to be named, to have a christening that gives us a title that belongs to each of us, and us alone. Somehow I know that this is mine. Sabre. I can feel the hair on my neck prickling in pride as it blooms across my skin.

Fleetingly, I take notice that my stomach has stopped screaming at me by now. The rampaging and surly pains have—finally—subsided, leaving behind a delightful warmth that blossoms in my belly. I dare not move until Ma ushers brother (Kid, I discerned from his own naming) forward to take his turn, and even then, I only back off because he’s brother. My wombmate.

But wait—eat she says to him, not drink. Instantly my brow puckers in curiosity, wondering what this eat is—and why couldn’t I get any?! Flicking my ears back indignantly, I dart my head under Ma’s belly again, watching brother with bright eyes. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything different than I had…and as long as he’s not getting anything different, I’m satisfied. In any case, the burning of curiosity quickly diminishes in favor of something else. Licking my lips and smacking them happily, I retreat once again, marching around on spindly legs to Ma’s other side, where brother is still nursing.

I notice her stiffening first. The coiling of her muscles is abrupt, and the tension seems to shoot out from her body, chilling the air and creating an atmosphere that is vastly different. My spine tingles instinctively, yellow eyes narrowing when I turn to see the dark stranger. In all of my limited knowledge, I do not grasp the complexity of relationships, or what possible ties this mare might have to me—and I do not care. All I know is that she’s definitely not Ma.

Brother’s movement has my eyes snapping to him when he wanders a step towards the stranger. Following him with less grace, I charge mightily forward, throwing myself in front of him and shooting him a glare that says stop, stupid (but gosh I love you anyway idiot) before I eye the black shadow. It is only now that I realize how…big she is! She is larger than Ma, but not as angry apparently, and my little heart simply can’t fathom anyone besting a hero like a mother. So when Ma speaks, I almost nod to back her up, adding my own silent warning. So take your Volterra and go!

Yeah.

That’ll show them!


“Speech.”

You’re so cold,

but you feel alive—

lay your hand on me one last time.