The appaloosa mare spoke again, this time addressing me by my namesake coupled with a soft and formal greeting. At least she had understood me, and it was also reliving to know that her knowledge extended to my mother as well. The light of faint recognition blazes in the crystal stare, a sign I had come to know well as understanding. “Faelene?” Yes, I thought quietly, that was my mother’s name. I didn’t move to assure this through our temporary bond, instead my lips curved into a smile. All traces of fear vanishing to the wind; if she knew mother then all was right in my frame of mind.

She smiled back at me when the vision of herself came into question, I stared up; my grin faltering into a little straight line. Somehow, the expression this mare wore seemed different from the warm beam that was often shared between momma and myself. It seemed, wounded almost—like the face I made when having first fallen upon the ice during our last storm. "Would you really like to know why I cried out?"

I always wanted to know why. It was how things got learned, it was a wonder that my momma still had patience left for all the why’s that often graced this skull. My infant mind could understand that something important was trying to be explained, the woman frowned and started speaking. Though my ears caught every word, only a small portion actually sunk to the point of compression. What did get gathered however, was that this lady had cried because of some sadness.

After a moment she relaxed, gently I tried to ease a picture of something happy into her mind, a bright blue butterfly; its body was covered in fine iridescent scales that glistened in an afternoon sun. Through the bond our butterfly soared high, its little wings beating strong. I sent my joy to her, the simple thrill of seeing another animal in motion. A childlike innocence that could only hope to be felt.

Maybe the image of something alive and free would lift her spirits.
My new acquaintance advances, her lips moving to ask another question. One I wouldn’t have an answer for, “Do you know who your father is?” For a moment my mind thinks upon this word. I had heard it before, in passing—though I couldn’t remember if it was from a stranger or from mother. Either way I knew not what the title actually meant. Gently I whispered a word that had been learned shortly after walking, ‘No.’ At the end I again moved to tack on a question, ‘do…you…father?’