Laila’s heart thawed, her chest and throat feeling misty and refreshed as a meadow might after a heavy rainstorm; his words, laced in that warm, steady voice of his, were sufficient to calm the ebony filly and soothe most of her deepest fears. She wasn’t alone in her disregard for her mother; her mind alone wasn’t some rotten vegetable stuck in the patch, tainting all the other colorful fruits of the harvest. She wasn’t some detestable creature of hate—apparently, these types of feelings came natural, if she was taking her brother’s example. And she always took Luken’s example; he was her staple in her hardest times. A pale shadow in the darkness of life’s mysteries, Laila reflected just how she would be able to function without her yoke, her rock, her dearest twin.
As he spoke of his visions for their warrior future, Laila couldn’t help but give her frizzy mane a little toss in excitement and pride; his words energized her, and inspired her imagination to soar. It was almost as though she could see the scene unfold before them, clear as day; Luken, the white sentinel; Laila, the black sentry—the two standing apart or side by side, watching over the lands graced to them by the Goddess of the Moon. Her eyes acquired a fiery, passionate cast, and she grinned widely at his words.
*"Everyone will say, 'look! There's Destrier's son and daughter! They've come so long since they were stumbling foals.' We'll make Father proud, won't we, La-La?"*
She turned to her brother then, opening her mouth to enthusiastically give her answer; but before she could utter a single syllable, another voice cut in; a low baritone, strong, calm, sure in its words, and a blanket of comfort to the ebony filly in every way.
*"Ah, look! There's Destrier's son and daughter!"*
Laila’s head perked up, her eyes feverishly looking for the source of such a familiar boom of a voice—she didn’t have to look long. Coming just over the hill seemed to be a walking shadow, hulking and proud in its step; but Laila knew it was her father Destrier, and she gave a tiny squeal of excitement. She ran for him, certain her brother ran with her; she made to crash into his heavy chest, to press herself against his broad side in greeting. Daddy! She shouted in her mind—a chant that was repeated over and over until it echoed within the confines of her mind. Daddy, daddy, daddy!
He spoke about his pride in the two of them; Laila’s heart melted at his words. Yet they had the adverse effect of making Laila want to inspire his pride even more than she originally wanted to. More than anything, she felt beholden to her father for his care, his love, his gentle guidance; while Tor had been the voice who lulled them to sleep, it was Destrier’s eyes that greeted them at sun’s first light. And unlike her mother’s voice, this had not faded away into nothingness; those great, brown eyes had never left Laila’s side, and it was such a sweet, almost painful relief that her father was still here to protect her and guide her in this scary world that Laila had the almost overpowering desire to cling to the great stallion. If he ever left, she knew she would be devastated—yet somehow, Laila could not imagine that scenario. It was just as ludicrous to imagine the sun winking out by the gust of a typhoon; it was just a laughable thought to be had.
*"May I ask you two something?"*
Laila took a step back from her father, craning her neck so she could look up into his big brown eyes with curiosity.
*"I want to know why you wish to become Protectors, above all other paths you have the choice to follow. I am not reprimanding you for your choices, no; I am merely curious."*
Laila took a huge breath—then exhaled it slowly, deeply pondering his question. Her mind warped back to the moment she made the decision; the touch Tor gave, after so much time away from her children, and self-pity she had heard her mother speak with at the Herd Meeting. Just thinking about it now made the frogs of Laila’s feet sear in her anger; she took another breath to cool it. It was just that anger, that spark of fiery passion, which Laila had used to speak her mind about her intentions to become a Protector.
If Laila was honest with herself, she would admit that it was the shame for her mother that had led her to shake that sort of matriarchal inheritance and run to the shadow of her father. In a traditional sense, Laila would have become a healer in her mother’s stead, a profession she had considered with just as much interest as she had expressed in the arts of a warrior. But then her mother had vanished—and with her mother, all the inspiration she had for the care and cultivation of life and life threads. The very thought of healing others brought too much pain for Laila to bear—for who could heal the bloody wound of broken trust? That was Time’s domain and power, and Laila didn’t possess that.
So she now considered being a Protector, cutting all ties with her mother and the thought of her in the process, trying to truly analyze her desire to become a warrior. It was somewhat shocking to Laila when she found genuine passion she had never seen within herself before; some inner temerity that was buried under the heartbreak Tor had caused. This fortitude blossomed as she gazed into Destrier’s face, the face of her father—and now, more than ever, her way was clear, her mind was set, and Laila had never felt so much confidence in herself than what she felt now.
“Because, father,” she started slowly, her words bold and careful all at once, “I wish to show my pride for my family and my herd, and cherish every member as they were my kin.” She puffed out her chest, eyes blazing as she became emboldened by her desires, “I choose to fight because I know there are those who can’t, and I wish to uphold their honor. I want to fight for honor.I have a healthy, well-formed body, and I wish to use it to the best of its ability!”
LAILA
One Day, I Shall Live by the Code of Honor
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