"I'll let them know what bad means."

Mother seemed displeased after I'd run off after her most severe beating, she eagerly praises me when she can, smiling in the most grueling fashion every time I do something she approves of— I shouldn't complain (I love compliments, really), but it doesn't feel right coming from her. Yes— mothers are supposed to praise and cherish and adore their children, but Mother has never done that, and up until recently, I was very sure she never would.

Yet as the deep, rugged scars begin to fade into the backdrop of monochrome fur along my back, Mother grows ever kinder. Each week is a gruesome new discovery of a mare I never knew hid behind that hardened facade— the beatings did not just vanish, no, they still happened but at a less frequent rate then before. Perhaps she finally took a step back to realize that she was only putting me on a path riddled with anxiety and paranoia, a ticking fear of anything loud and thunderous— and such conditions were not fit for kings. Maybe she finally learned that through firm reinforcement and praise (in a well fashioned balance) would great the most respectable king, rather than harsh collision of hoof and tooth to skin.  

Today she had nothing planned (no profound lessons on the importance of secrecy, no mock fights where she always won, no target practice where she would prove how poor my aim was), and thus I was free to do as I pleased (almost). So I took this opportunity to strut around the forest, keeping my eyes peeled for something particularly interesting to observe (or someone to bother, either or).

And just my luck— a snow white shape sticks out in my bleary vision, a stark contrast to the brittle black and greens and browns in the background. From where it (they) stand, I can smell something wretched, my nose wrinkling in disgust (not another one). I get closer, able to make out that it's another foal (she's very small), and her recently birthed companion. The most immediate thought is (again), 'another one?' There seems to be a trend here with all these ugly little chics, what's so entertaining about them? What good will they do you with their unfeathered masses and narrow beaks? Why settle for less when there's so much more?

Maybe the real question I should be asking, is why not me? Why do I keep spotting others (Nymeria, that sass mass filly, Zhu's mother, Volterra) who bear companions— and now this girl. So where is mine? I'm sure they don't just fall out of the sky, but I really wish they did (and I was lucky enough to get one) so I didn't have to feel like the odd man out. Sabre and Mother don't have companions, which gives me all the more reason to get one. I'll be the first (of the three of us), which will be just amazing for the ego I've got (the crop is bountiful this year!).

"Where did you get that?"

"Talk."