One moment I am alone with my thoughts, the next there is another beside me, the downy spines of her feathers brushing lightly against my flanks. I regard her curiously with tired, though inquisitive eyes. She is small, substantially so. I nearly tower over her petite stature. There is something intriguing about her, though what for certain I cannot say. Silence envelopes us, the only noise to be heard the soft whistle of the breeze and the distant gasping of the sea. It remains this way until an apology creeps its way onto the mare's lips.

I cannot help but wonder how she knows. Is my sadness so potent it has wafted off me to permeate the stale, desert air? Perhaps she has caught wind of your departure, the bereavements whispered between herd members. I have not seen her before. She must be new, for she smells of other lands, though still I can tell she is one of us, however novel. "You have nothing to be sorry for..." My voice is soft and melancholy, like a hidden bird that sings despite the rain in my heart.

Our daughter approaches.

There is something different about her coat. Small flecks of light roam across it - they are stars, I soon realize and for a moment I simply admire the way they sparkle against the deep, roan hue of her pelt.

My muzzle extends, pressing into the dark velvet of our daughter's. I will not reject her despite her absence - I find am incapable of such a thing. To do so would be perhaps the cruelest gesture of all. I sigh - a long and nasal breath - feeling a great weight purging with that single touch. Mother. She whispers. Her voice is like mirrored wind chimes, gentle yet laden in a thick syrup of emotions, so much I can almost taste it. "Cirrus." For the briefest of moments those two words hang quietly in the air above us, and they mean more, express more emotion, than any other probably could. I lower my face to greet Sitka who offers me a friendly lick. I know that in his protection our little cloud is safe, and silently I thank him for that.

I love you. Water collects along the margins of my eyes. I blink and the salty fluid reaches for my lashes, tumbling down the thin hairs to then streak down the dark satin of my cheek. She has been absent as of late, brooding the loss of the most prominent figure in her life. How could I ever blame the filly for something like that? I myself have suffered the loss of a father at about the same age, as you know. To see our daughter also have to bare such misfortune breaks my heart. "And I love you, my daughter." I return, my voice firm yet earnest. I crane my head around her neck.

She is getting to be near the same height as me. This realization causes a bitter-sweet expression to seize my features. "I love you more than you will ever know." There are no questions, no "Where have you been," or "Why so distant?" There is no need for such. Quietly, I relish in this moment of intimacy with our daughter. I feel a wave of comfort swell over me.

Sincerely your's,
      Cassiopeia

P.S. - I love you. That is something time will never change.