I search even though there's nothing there for me, even though her face is callous and unmoving. She keeps unbelievably still, yet my eyes stay trained to her face (the face that I stole), seeking something that wasn't there— that maybe never would be. Yet I did not falter, bubblegum eyes stayed on the ivory mask even when there was nothing for her to react to, nothing for her to say or do that could appease to my need. A corner of her lip twitched, instantaneously drawing forth my attention. There I saw something, something dark and hidden— something well guarded, kept behind a red and ivory lock where no one could get it. It was dreadfully quiet and terrifying, inspiring fear in the deepest crevices of my conscious as I gazed into it. It brought hopelessness, seeded it into the roots of my pride and let it flower there. 

I swallowed harshly while my mind recovered from the darkness that had shrouded it, eyes shifting to the world beyond Nymeria. I contemplated there what my plan was, whether I was to continue to look past her— or meet her eyes and face what I'd run from. I shifted my focus, sights set on the bloodied gaze of my aunt, wondering what she hid behind that cold gaze. What more was there to her, other than these lax features that I'd so greedily stolen? What else could I find if I prodded deeper, if I stood my ground and pushed through these walls? But no, I couldn't. I was still too weak, too feeble for this mighty task. So I wait in the quiet, I wait and wait.  

I was confident in my question, so undeniably sure that it was what I desired to know. And it was, but at what cost would I find my answers? Already Nymeria tried to deter me from this knowledge, pushing me from my path in hopes I would stay off, that I would trod the route she wanted me to rather than so boldly jump right back to where I was. My confidence did not waver, even as she teased me with a smirk— a smirk that signified how much of a child I was, that I was not being taken seriously. I felt my body tense, a reaction to the anger spreading from this reaction, almost trembling with rage at Nymeria, who looked down at me. 

This fury was momentarily forgotten as I watch where her eyes go, peering up at the dragon that circles over our heads, wings spread and obsidian body shimmering in an enticing way, holding my attention. I watched for as long as I could before my neck began to cry out in protest, my attention averted back to the grulla before me. "What's your dragon's name?" I ask her, genuinely curious as to what she's dubbed the winged reptile.  

Repeat of the flank swish, the sigh— my eyes are caught up in watching the black tresses wrap over her flank that I almost miss her words. Cotton candy eyes get wider as my thoughts stop in their tracks, clicking and shuddering as I try to register what she'd said. I had to tell her something equal in worth to information about Volterra. Somewhere my gears started shifting, coming back to life at too fast a pace— what do I tell her?

I have little time to react to what I'm saying, letting it spew out in a river of rushed syllables, running faster than I can filter them. Perhaps I should've thought this through, rather than opening my mouth and letting go whatever came to mind. It was out of character for me to so blatantly state things without going over them first, and I knew as soon as I spoke that I would regret it all. "I met this big raven-pegasus-equine-unicorn lady and she seemed reaaallly interested in Volterra's relationship with my mother—" I was of course referring to the girl who preached her necessary existence and was subtly infatuated with Volterra and his status, which seemed so strange. My little brain can't fit all the pieces together yet (because let's face it, I'm an idiot), but I knew there must be some reason she had been so surprised to know I was his bastard child (that I don't even think he knows about). "And I met this pretty boy that I wanted to impress— but I think he was a unicorn and mother hates them and I'm supposed to too— but he was very pretty!" I'm panicking, spilling information, venting and overflowing with all these things I've kept in over the past few weeks. "Mother likes Sabre better than she does me, because I'm smaller, weaker and I like to explore." I feel the sting of all her strikes against my back and ribs, shuddering at the memories of steel grey hooves bluntly thrumming against my sides. 

I look up at Nymeria, suddenly concerned what she'll think about all that I'd said, whether she'll register my panic or assume I'm simply a tattle tale. I'd spoken all secrets, all truths about things that have occurred. I only hope she won't spread these words, that she won't find Mother or Volterra and tattle on me.