kid

There are few places I have explored (or explored extensively). In the time I've existed I've managed to map out Helovia and the general landmarks within its borders. And although I've explored each land vaguely (given it a once over, merely passed it by, etc), I have never actually delved too deeply into the exploration of them— haven't taken the time to map out the lands to the fullest extent. In the beginning I had reason for it, Mother and her agitation when I spent too much time away from her was enough to compel me to return home— that and I couldn't leave Sabre alone with her, I felt guilty each time I would return to see Sabre sulking and Mother triumphantly bloodied. Now that Mother is the one sullen and blue and Sabre has been swallowed up by the passing of time, I have no reason to return before the moon peeks over the treeline.

Today I've decided (at random) to go deep into the ominous, wailing caves nearest Helovia's bubbling magma pit. I've only ventured so far into them, in pursuit of Sabre (ow) when we were at the ripe age of what— three months? Whatever the case, it was long ago, on a day where my memory should have faded into nothing, melded into the continuous thundering of charcoal hooves against my sides.

Quiet hoofsteps cascade down the passageway as I make my way down, descending into the underworld with my lips pursed and ears alert. As brave as I am, there is still a hesitant caution to the way I ease myself into the underground (perhaps that's it). The uneasiness in my stomach makes me careful to watch my step, mismatched hooves clicking over slick stone as I travel farther in. The roaring sound of a waterfall overwhelms my senses as I pass by one gaping entrance, head swinging that way to witness the awe inspiring wonder of a hidden cavern.

Vegetation grows over the cold, damp stone, my hooves yearning to tread upon such familiar earth. So there I go, a silent king taking his rounds through a foreign kingdom, pacing through the room with subtle awe in my eyes. Bubblegum catches on something (amber champagne), a familiar body drifting into my line of sight. A faint blue glow basks over the area where her head lingers, champagne body bringing a subconscious sense of safety to my mind as I make my way towards her. I recall that night so clearly, the moment when I stumbled into her embrace and let her kiss away my pain— the scars are still there, standing out against my skin against a sea of such smaller, less significant etchings. "It's you," is all I can manage, the words exhaled from my lips with something genuinely sweet (wow)— my entire body sighs out with the release of those words, bubblegum alight with something akin to happiness as I see her.

"Talk."

kid

"Thank you," I murmur, head stooping and ears sliding back as I offer my gratitude. "That night you healed me, thank you." It's only a moment of softer syllables, lips unsure of how to form those two simple words (thank you)— I'd never truly been thankful for anything in my life. There was nothing to be thankful for. I was always given shit, why should I be thankful for that (I'm not)?

The mention of Zhu has my face twisting up, ears flattening and stomach churning. Zhu. He's been gone (waiting), and as much as I'd like to say fuck him, I don't care, there's that little ember of shitty familial love. For Sabre it's a wildfire, a desperate need to find her and bring her back home, to show her Volterra and teach her the language (Hungarian) I so choppily speak. With Zhu it's more of a need to prove something (what?). What will I prove? What do I want to prove? Who am I trying to prove anything to? Volterra. Colt. Everyone.

I don't want to be seen as weak and small, as something unfortunate— an insignificant piece in a strong family, I am the weakest link. I am fighting against it, trying to work my way out of this pit I've been forced in to. Fuck it. I'm not going to be called a child, a boy, a weak baby. That time is over, it's time for me to stand up (fuck you, Mother) and prove my worth.

The mention of my brother makes my mouth bitter, tail flickering against a brindled thigh— "Yeah." Observant, passive. I look to the ghastly deer and its dragging flora, draped over the pale figure like he's the focus of an aesthetic picture (I should be the focus, honestly). Hobgoblin, the familiar companion who had been by Zhu's side when we'd met in the forest months ago— he'd mentioned that he was his mother's (I just didn't realize that this is his mother). I didn't expect his mother to be her, the woman who'd guided me through a night of

"You're his mom," I state the obvious just to throw it out there in the open, to let it still in the air and gradually grow stale. So she had a little affair with Volterra as well (it seems everyone has)— how does he manage it? How does he jump mare to mare, careless on whether nature has taken its course and he's (once again) a father? My face remains still, lips tight, even as I grimace at the idea of having countless siblings to go up against (who will take it all?). Even though Zhu and I were very close in age, the number of Volterra's successful hits was countless. Perhaps there were even more children than anyone knew about? Somewhere hidden among hundreds of others, there are more children carrying Volterra's blood.

I look to her face, washed with a clam blue glow that cascades from her horn. She is the one who inspired my rebellion, the tedious avoidance of Mother's relentless teachings— with her help I began to change, I forgot the learned disgust and hatred towards other species and let something new settle there. I wasn't going to listen to Mother's angry rants about the reason we have to hate those of a different breed, tuning out and nodding mindlessly along as she ranted. I've long since forgotten the sickening feeling I would force myself into upon sight of a horn or wings, deciding that there was much more to see and focus on than the difference between species. This mare had been only the beginning.

"Yes, I unfortunately am." I confirm the obvious, knowing that she (and Hobgoblin, the weird fucker) already knew that Zhu and I shared blood. Bubblegum lingers on her features, seeking out subtle changes and minor details. "I am not the only one, there's a growing number of Volterra spawn parading around Helovia. My sister and I were only the first, Zhu seemed to follow not long after." This likely isn't news to her, because who doesn't know how big of a ho Volterra is?

I watch her sink deeper into the pool she's been standing in, eyes caught on the rippling of the water as her scarred body slips closer to the surface. I take silent steps forward, lacking hesitance in my stride until I reach the lip of the pool, mismatched hooves clicking against stone and sinking into moss. I linger here at the edge, watching the water soak her hide as she relaxes. "Sure." I take the first step into the pool, taking a moment to adjust my smaller body until finally I can slip down into a position mirroring the unicorn's. The water darkens my coat, brindling blending with the dark hair of my thigh as I relax into the position. "How did someone as nice as yourself produce something like Zhu?" It's spoken lightly, a playful beginning to a conversation— my relationship with most adults is distant and quiet, always serious and indifferent. It was never so closely personal, not in the way this one was, the way she'd held me while I sobbed and fretted over returning to mother— no one else had ever taken that daring step into my personal space (into my life).

"Talk."

kid

"Dear," she says. Dear— she begins, like I am a child of her womb, the fruit of her loins. Like I am someone she has known for ages, someone she has loved and formed a delicately close relationship to (I am not). I am nothing but a tired, broken boy she found stumbling through Helovia in distress, a soul to comfort while my blood stained my coat and my knees trembled. Dear, she says to me like I am her son, her pride and joy. Dear.

What have I done to deserve this love?

I crumble (once again) beneath her, a soft exhale that I'd been holding for too long— keeping it all in for months. I gaze into the gentle blue of her eyes, reminiscent of my rare trips to the sandy beach, when the waves were calm and cool against my burning temper. She is everything I've never had, all the maternal kindness and care that I was never given. None of those comfortable nights spent being adored and fed and praised, being cherished. There was always fear and aggression, rationed food and demanding training for a child whose milk teeth had only just grown in. There was never a tender second, never a precious moment shared between mother and child— the only bonding I ever did was take her blows and dare not cry.

The words reach my lips hesitantly, shoulders hunched as I gaze down at the cavern floor. I can hear the roaring of the waterfall, drowning out my thoughts (it's deafening).  "But why? I- I've never done anything for you— I don't deserve your kindness." (Your pity) When I speak, the words are hushed and almost swallowed up by the rushing water echoing through the cave, the fact that I'm whispering to the stone beneath my feet and not the woman before me. "Really, I'm nothing worth fretting over." My voice cracks, jumping in pitch as I tell her that I'm none of her concern. I'm not her son, she doesn't need to worry about my well being (if she does she'll have grey hair before the start of next season). I'm not worth it.

Had I been feeling like my normal, cocky self, I would have easily told her that I don't need her care. That she can shove off and live her life away from me, but I don't say that— not to her (to someone else, perhaps I would have). Instead I crumble, because I do need her, I need someone. I have lived my life with no one, with a flickering image of Sabre held close to my chest, a hint of affection towards the previously stiff and cold Nymeria— but nothing more (no one else). It has always been just me, myself and I. No one has been here to voice concern for my well being, to make sure I'm okay, that I am not facing any danger or struggling to smile. Perhaps nobody cares enough for that, turning a blind eye as my wounds bleed and eyes fall to the ground beneath me. I look to her, this saviour of mine, a guardian angel here to keep me safe, and I smile. It's as genuine as it gets from a child like me, with tears bubbling to the surface as I fail at blinking them away. "But thank you," I offer, hesitant and choppy as I turn my head away (I have to keep some of my angst).

I snort when she mentions Zhu being more like Volterra— I wonder if he'd take that as a compliment or an insult? Knowing Zhu, he may just see that as a restriction, something binding him to our shared parent and keeping him rooted where he is, associating him with us. He seems very keen on staying away from the family, on building his own name and reputation (have fun with that, Zhu).

"He and Volterra are far from similar, all they share is black hide and brute strength." I tell her, recalling the bitterness of Zhu's voice, the distance he puts between himself and the world around him— he is ice cold and glory, sober shadows and savagery, he is unrestricted, a determined boy set on achieving greatness without help. But he's also an arrogant shithead, and someone (me?) needs to knock him off his high horse (says the boy whose living on the moon), to tell him that trying to claw his way to victory without help is a great way to waste time. Volterra, although he may appear outwardly strong and resilient, blunt and unforgiving— he has (as Nym told me) a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, he is an idiot who cannot understand that putting your dick where it doesn't belong (seriously that's nasty) is going to have some consequences. Volterra doesn't fully grasp the responsibility of fatherhood, that as a parent he's supposed to be there for his (many) current children, not off making more.

So she does know of Astarot and Tyrath, ears falling back at hearing that they too resided in the Throat (did Volterra solely seek out women of the Throat?), a place I could not reach. I feel that I shouldn't care about my siblings (they are solely obstacles), but knowing the pain of being so alone, I just couldn't. Where are their mothers (are they with them?), are they kind to them? "Can you keep an eye on them for me? I know Volterra won't, he may say he will but I don't believe him. You're the only other person I know in the Throat aside from Zhu and I don't know where his edgy ass is. Even if I did I know he wouldn't do anything for me." I shrug my shoulders, trying not to look agitated at the fact that Zhu was unfortunately indeed following in Volterra's steps and disappearing into the same limbo he had been in for the initial eight months of my life.

Her lips seek out a piece of me, planted to my shoulder and grooming me carefully as we lie together in the pool. She's quiet, and so am I as the waterfall roars beside us and Hobgoblin nestles against her— it's peaceful, serene and fulfilling to simply lay down for a moment and soak. This is something I've never had the chance to enjoy, something I have never done (when have I ever been able to relax?), although  my body continues to twitch and fidget (a habit I've come to develop) despite the calm.

She draws away and takes her time in explaining that I cannot change people to fit my needs, and my ears fall and lip curls. "I know that I cannot change him, I'm not trying to, nor do I want to. The time and effort that would take is far beyond what I have." I snort at the idea of Zhu being polite and well-mannered (he's a little big shit is what he is), wondering if her attempts at teaching him to be kind went in one ear and out the other— he's certainly never been kind to me (there's obviously several reasons behind that). I look over her as she speaks, telling me she will be proud of him no matter how he turns out, my stomach twisting as I think of pride— how Mother has never expressed it towards me (she has and never will be proud of me, will she?) "I understand very well that parents cannot control what their children become, unfortunately sometimes they don't. And the child is the one who suffers for it, who pays for their ignorance." My spine crawls, scarred flesh itching at the mention of all of Mother's attempts of changing me "for the better." Maybe this is why Sabre is gone, perhaps she ran away because the pressures of Mother's expectations were too much— but she wouldn't run (she's too stubborn) and she certainly wouldn't leave me, would she?

"Talk."