Hellena called her naïve and then just left? With some words to Mauja too, of course. Kahlua was dumbfounded. And it didn’t really help with any of the confusing stuff that was going on either. She had trusted Hellena, had looked to her as saint and mother, had expected her to always be kind. Wasn’t that her job, after all? Wasn’t she supposed to look over the herd, care for them, give them strength when they had none of their own. In the end, Kahlua just sighed. What was there to say to a mare as ancient as the hills? What did she understand about being young, carefree, youthful anyways? And those tears that kept threatening to fall? They just sat there, daring anyone to provoke the painted beauty any further. How did she always end up like this?

In a fairytale world, where sugar plum fairies drop wishes, puppies prance in fields of rainbows, and the sun rises with a smile each day, Kahlua would fit in. In a world where I am hers meant that Mauja was bonded to his companion in such a way that he was as beautiful inside as she was on the outside there was no sadness. In a world where Torasin died because of me were words that would never be spoken, Kahlua would rule on high as queen. But Helovia was far from that perfect world, and Kahlua was far from being worthy of such a crown. No, he didn’t understand. But she didn’t either. And perhaps that lack of understanding, within the two of them, would be a place for them to start anew.

And with Hellena gone now, perhaps it would be easier for the girl.

What was it that he had said a few moments ago? It was an accident. She breathed deeply, letting the words roll around in her head for a few minutes, agonizingly silent minutes, but minutes never the less. And she practiced taking deep breaths, and she closed her eyes, and she waited. For what? Even she didn’t know. But whatever it was, she found what she was looking for. Eyes opened, still moist but no longer looking like a dam ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

And it was then that she was ready, with a few deep breathes to bring life back to her chilled heart. The innocence of a child returned to her, though she couldn’t help but take a frightened step back from him. She suddenly felt that she wanted to know, no had to know, what had happened. And though her voice still wavered from her close call with tears she was not going to back down. A whisper of determination shone through her heartbroken voice. “How did it happen. Tell me the story.” It was not a question. She need to know this, though she did not know why.

Perhaps what made this all so bad for the poor girl was her propensity to fall so headfirst into everything she did. When she was happy, she was jubilantly happy, exuberantly happy and not afraid to show it. And when the opposite was true? The girl was just as invested in it. But perhaps that was how the girl had to be. For how would she deal with all of her nightmares, with all of the evil that had plagued her, if she did not jump head first into every joyous occasion? Depression was not for the spotted overo, she did not wear it well.