It's perhaps the first time his elder brother has used his actual name. It was something Iskra noticed immediately for how foreign it sounded, how serious it was, a stark contrast against their normal moments of shared play and joy. It made Iskra feel sick, because he didn't want big brother to be anything but those moments. He had enough of
everything else with mom, so gods, he couldn't lose his brother too.
This, more than the abandonment, shook Iskra with grief and fear. He trembled underneath the shelter of Zero, pressing every ounce of his body that he could manage against some part of Zero, so that he could feel that solid presence of reassurance. Gently he shut his eyes, counting his heartbeats in his mind, a process he used to calm himself and renew his ability to cope with the reality shattering around him.
It isn't Zero's affirmation or encouragement that eventually soothes Iskra, it's his return to normalcy, his willingness to pretend everything is alright, that finally rouses the young colt from the abyss he's slipping into. He's never cried before this, and eagerly his lashes blink away the hot sting of the sticky residue, his limb quick to help him rub the trails off his cheeks and the mucus from his nares.
"Yea," is all he manages to say, but there's a spark of youthful vigor there, a crumb of excitement and bewildered interest. After all, he's heard a lot of stories about dad, from the herd, and from mom if she was up to it, but he rarely heard anything about
her.
Was she always like this? It had been thus as far back as he could remember, but part of him didn't think so. Part of him knew
this mom he had was the ghost that remained behind after his dad left, but he simply couldn't imagine her as anything else - he had little reason to.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
