You see her easily, because the bold red of her coat stands out against the pale, misty backdrop of the Edge. If the world was wreathed in curtains of silk and silver, surely this girl was the rose, and you wonder to yourself if she could be thought of as beautiful from this perspective. Not that you would, you’ve already gotten an eyeful of the great white splotch against her front (remnants of a little whoopsie-daisy! perhaps—but oops, you’re not old enough for that joke yet!) and you are not so impressed. Although you suppose someone might find her attractive. Perhaps.

You debate going over, reaching out to her, meeing her, because that ludicrous glimpse you caught as you were hastily ushered into the herd land was paltry indeed. You wonder if she’s worth meeting, if it’s important for you to stick your neck out and sniff the displaced, replaced little hussie. You wonder if your agitation with having another sister is justified, if she is more useful than she looks, if she is dangerous in a way you’re not quite aware of. Onei sits perched, still and obedient, on your wither as you contemplate the crimson silhouette. You weigh the older sister on golden scales, and you watch the dishes tip, the numbers flickering back and forth.

In the end, you realize it’s not an indulgent act to go over and meet her. You realize it’s a duty, for her blood relation does not change the fact that she is of the World’s Edge, and you must learn about that (Father said so). Her blood makes her a critical piece, however. It would seem strange to be so aloof from a blood relative, to have someone related as unknown, a stranger. In fact, now that you think about it, it’s a downright insult. You are the Knowing. You should know everything and all things, even this they cause you discomfort or displeasure.

You’re not savvy to the brooding mood of the filly; you’re forcing yourself forward, getting it over with with subtly gritted teeth, and you fail to be sensitive, receptive, to the moods of others. Still, at least you remain sweet and cordial. You’re not mean. You never will be seen as mean. “Hello,” you say quietly, coming up from behind. “You’re…you’re sister, aren’t you?”


"talk talk talk"