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02-06-2017, 12:14 PM
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That Erthë isn’t very excited about her new job is one of the things Maude notices first, though she certainly isn’t sure why. If their roles were reversed, the ginger and cream filly was quite sure she would be over the Moon, or so she thought the saying went. Maybe it had something to do with responsibility? Her father mentioned it a lot, and that it only grew the older you got, and the more tasks that were assigned to you. She was not sure, but lets it diminish her cheer none at all. Letting the conversation move where it will, her lips split into a broad smile as Erthë points out that they will likely see each other more. They would, wouldn’t they! Maude thinks, quite liking the idea, her pale tail lifting along with her spirits, as her Arabian heritage is apt. “Of course I’ll come!” she cheerfully assures her friend, “I’m sure mommy would love to help. She is very kind, even though she can be pretty serious sometimes.” Her father could be too, she supposed, but there was something much more solemn about the pale mare than there was about her cheerful, caring father. It was as if all those years in the cold of the Aurora Basin had managed to make part of her cold, too, or maybe it was all that time she spent outside, first thing in the morning, meditating, that left her feeling distant, sometimes. Still, there was a comfort in the ethereal nature of her dam, one that made her knowledgeable tales seem all the more important. While Maude had the gift of making songs, her mother was very good at telling stories, and her russet kissed daughter greatly appreciated the art which had only narrowly escaped her grasp. Her tales wound up being too long, and convoluted, with no real point, but she always left her mother’s teaching feeling like she’d really learned something important. Realizing that she’s been lured away from her initial topic by the beguiling notion of getting to study history and magic with Erthë, the filly casually looks away, before glancing back at her friend, an ear falling back nervously. “Say, Erthë,” slowly, sweetly begins the cremello maiden, not sure how to broach the subject without potentially hurting the snowy mare’s feelings, but sticking to her initial plan, all the same, “I’m getting pretty good with herbs now. I can name all of them in the garden, and greenhouse. My teachers say I should start practicing actual healing soon. Can… can I practice on you? If you don't already have a doctor, you know.” |
Hold onto this lullaby, even when the music's gone.
