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02-18-2014, 07:33 PM
The egg is warm against my chest, and I found myself thrust into memories of my brief stints of motherhood. I had sworn to never again have children after Diniel, my little stillborn angel, who had left her sister, Skysong to face the world alone. Would things have been different, if they had both survived, both grown up under my watchful eye? Would Note have stayed, if I had not lost our firstborn? Would I have been a better mother? I know I cannot take it back, and I have trained myself to put such things out of my mind; but with the thought of taking on an egg, I find that all of my doubts have come rushing back. And then, there was Zenobia, my little firecracker of a daughter. Oh, how lovely she is, and how brave. I tried to be a better mother for her. I tried to indulge her as I never did Skysong; I tried to teach her, and nurture her, and keep her close. And yet somehow, on that long trek into the caverns, I had managed to lose her. I had searched, of course, but to no avail, and the disappointment in Gaucho's eyes when he realized that I had failed still drives a spike into my heart. I swallow hard, pulling the egg closer. I am gentle, careful not to crush it despite my desire to hold it tight. Tears swim beneath closed lids as I take a moment and pray that maybe this time, I can be the mother I should be. Maybe this time, I will not fail. Little do I know that the egg will be a companion rather than a child, but alas, I shall learn soon enough. "Of course you may," I reply with surprise at the mare's inquiry, moving my cranium out of the way to allow her access. I appreciate her next words, though the seed of doubt remains planted firmly in my mind. How could she be so sure? Once upon a time, I believed in destiny and fate, very much like she insisted, and yet... Now, with all that has happened, how can I blindly place my trust in the unknown? Still, she's right, isn't she? I can't possibly leave the babe to fend for itself. It will need a caretaker, particularly now, with the darkness looming outside the cave. How will it survive without someone - without me? "You're right," I agree finally, quietly. I wonder if she can hear my trepidation, the way my voice wavers slightly, unsure even now. "Thank you." It is an even more quiet sentence, almost a whisper, for this near-stranger's kindness means more to me than she can possibly know. "Talk talk talk." |
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