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01-06-2016, 05:40 PM
It was rare that I found anyone who was willing to take this old woman for a walk without a catch to it, so I appreciated the cordial mannerisms of the odd little stallion. I wasn't sure if he thought I was aging or spry, but given his small stature I was sure to take daintier steps. Perhaps we weren't getting anywhere fast, but we were enjoying each other's company.
It was difficult for me to find pleasure in most things around that time (or, really, any of those before) so I made a point of holding onto it. Johnny was willing to talk, too, and his chatter filled the noise with something like a child's laughter as I strode silently alongside him. He spoke with glowing praise of his rank and his duties, providing a few paltry (but clearly, to him, exciting) examples by way of convincing.
The fact of the matter was that I was old and tired. I could have considered that having less time in my life meant I should spend it doing something I was really and truly passionate about, but my passion was limited primarily to my endless search for the child of my father. Whoever she was, though, I was beginning to think she was gone. I didn't know that she was right here in this herd, that perhaps I would meet her any day.
So given my state of exhaustion and Johnny's persistent, sad sort of pleading way that I perceived him as speaking, I offered my services. Why not? Life was short, it was true and I felt that especially nowadays. Who was to say this wouldn't become a new passion of mine? Perhaps there could be something healing in the simple act of weaving and mending old garments, of creating for a herd I thus far cared little for. Maybe by engaging in some hobby, some sort of something, I would begin to form an attachment for this frozen valley.
His question rang, echoing in my mind until I was forced to answer. I smiled at him, twirled my tail ever so slightly, and nodded my head. "Johnny, count me as interested. I'd love to help you with your work."
""
Those Days Are Gone
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