Somehow, Laila knew where she was going.

It was going to be dark outside—too dark for anyone, really, much less a tender yearling with an uneven gait. The moon was dazzling, true, but this was the hour for grass-diners to go and prepare to rest themselves and replenish their energy stores—this was a time for those with fangs and yellow eyes to begin stalking the shadows, creeping up on their unsuspecting prey. Laila knew all of these things; she had been taught well by the gentle, chocolate voice that was her conscience, guiding her throughout her sun-lit days. When the sun falls, it said to her, it’s always time to find your brother, and settle down for a restful sleep. Yet Laila trudged on, ignoring such a voice, every step in the moon’s transparent shadow a rebellion to that voice—every placement of her hoof a deliberate rebellion from that sweet, innocent presence from long ago.

The irony didn’t escape Laila; she gave a dry sort of snort-chuckle at the thought.

There was a reason why the ebony filly was up and about, though she wasn’t sure of it yet. She tossed and turned in her bed-grasses until she had enough of that. The wind was calling to her; surely the Moon Goddess was tipping her off into the right direction? Or maybe she was just going mad? Laila didn’t care; she supposed if she were going to take a walk, she would fall asleep that much faster. She delicately picked her way through dense foliage, the salty wind flowing through her bushy mane; she crept through the shadows, her mind blank and tranquil and serene, not quite knowing the destination yet sure that she was getting closer with every step. At last, as she made her way into the pale, crimson clearing of the cliff’s edge, Laila finally understood the reason for her twilit venture as her gaze fell upon the alabaster specter that stared into the waves.

Mama.

Laila analyzed her emotions; there was a painful sort of relief to see her mother whole and well, seemingly unscathed in her visage. She was truly glad to see her; the happiness was so blinding, Laila knew she would’ve shed tears of joy had there not been that twisting sense of disgust that wove along with it. Yet there it was, that ugly black serpent of shame and fury that accompanied the image of her mother’s face in her mind. Laila hated that serpent; hated its grotesque coils and the sinister smile it gave to the chocolate conscience of Laila’s thoughts. The ebony filly took a calming breath, allowing neither of those emotions to color her words. She wanted to keep calm and cool about it; she didn’t want to wound her mother with spitting words of poison and fangs. Laila didn’t claim to know her mother’s mind. Perhaps…perhaps there had been a reason for her mama’s disappearance.

Laila hoped there had been a reason.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her strong voice cutting into the moonlit night. No “hello’s” or “Mama I missed you!”’s or “You can rot in hell for I care!”’s. Just getting straight to the meat of the matter. Laila was tired of feeling these offending things about her family—she hated feeling ashamed of her own blood and mother. It was time to prove Laila wrong and set aside her mutinous feelings about her mother—or justify them.

She did not want to lie.

Tor's soft, lightly-furred ears twitched and shivered, catching the delicate crunch of small hooves under a dark body. Her dark, soft brown eyes, depthless and fathomless, filled with incomprehensible layers of guilt, joy, peace, and memories, caught the flicker of movement that announced Laila's presence. Laila was so much more in appearance like that of her father- albeit smaller. Dark, with an elegant face, so unlike Tor's plain, comely homeliness. Just a shadow against the falling night. Maternally, the white mare wished the filly would sleep at her hooves again, safe and sheltered; as a mare, and traitor, she vaguely wished her daughter had not come in the darkness of night. Each and every moment should be taken at face value- and Tor should certainly not feel uncomfortable, however slightly, around her own blood. Laila was the intricate product of her and Destrier's blood. In a way, she was the visual representation of what would certainly be deep and lasting, eternal care and the gentle caress. Neither of them lusted like a young stallion or curved-flanked mare. No, Tor was content to move at a steady pace, together.

"You should be in bed," Tor murmured, still staring out over the scarlet and black sea, the foaming white at a sharp contrast to the deep shadows and bleeding waters. Casually she turned her head, admiring the young filly's shape, slowly and steadily filling out from the sharp angles into the elegance of a model. Tor, even round-flanked and curved as she was, could not match the lushness of a young body, especially one not fully draft. Her daughter would fill out to be a beautiful mare, even more gorgeous than her, Tor was certain. Wasn't that what all mothers wanted for their daughters? Beauty, a good family... all of this the mother thought as she watched the rise and fall of Laila's chest, the deepness of her ebony coat, interrupted by just a touch of cream, sharp against the horizon line. Here the cliff jutted out over the sea, the shrine nearby, the wind humming as it leaped through the open tubes and thrumming a soft song as it hit dead ends. There were no trees to stop Tor was watching her daughter, casually but lovingly, for there was nothing but a deep, sensitive maternal feeling for her children. Once reunited, nothing would stop her from tearing the earth apart from finding them, a fact which Tor found ironic considering it was she who abandoned them.

Yet was her life not full of ironies?

As Laila posed a question, voice sharp and strong, cutting through the howling of the wind like a keen blade, Tor stared out over the surging sea, and instead she answered the question with one of her own. "Did you miss me?" A ghost of a whisper; if the wind had not been swirling towards Laila, perhaps it might be missed completely. For the white mare was curious, and afraid, of the answer. If Destrier had been a better father for them... what if they did not miss their mother? Tor paused, inhaling the tangy air sharp with the scent of salt. "I missed you every moment. Laila..." How did she explain the feelings within her, without over-complicating the issue? Maybe it was just intuition, or a mother's six sense, but she felt this answer needed to be good. It just shouted out it was important. "I will not send you chasing ghost answers. I went to see my brother, to the North, and to finish business with a mare I once called my closest friend." Her voice was surprisingly calm and steady, a deep, even tenor- it only shivered at the mention of Ophelia.

Tor turned her head back from watching the sea to laying her eyes on her daughter once more. "I regret both." Nanook had tried to lay claim to her, living in a world far from sexual equality. If not for her stubborn refusal to disappear from Destrier and the twins eternally, and for him owing her for being essentially his foster sister, he would not have let her leave. He would've barred her way with bared teeth and pinned ears, with a challenging squeal ensuing. Never would he believe that Tor, perhaps, had once fought. As foals they had played, but as adults, in that world far away, mares were expected to bear strong foals and do as the lead commands. Mares were respected, and always treated well, but still, they were made to defer to the stallions' authority. As for Ophelia... needless to say, the meeting had not gone well with any of them present. Still, she missed both of them, despite the harsh parting. Ophelia, less. No doubt that Tor weighed little on the mare's eidetic memory... but Nanook? She had lived with him for many years, bonded to him. After wishing for equality and returning to her mate, with him hardly respecting that, they had split. Nanook had sent a young bachelor even farther North to carry on the news of Tor to Whitewood and Blackfoot, yet nevertheless she would've wished to go all the way herself. But the trip was simply too long.

"I understand you may be feeling... regrets about my behavior. Shame, maybe. At the very least, I do not doubt you will be upset. I would as well. I will not judge you, my daughter. All I will say is that I will be working hard not to gain the trust of just you, but all of this herd in the future. My shoulders are burdened with my petty mistakes, and only when I show my loyalty and have it returned will the load lighten." Tor's gentle, serene voice held two notes; one of sincerity, and one of worry. She could not look at her daughter, for fear she would see a mistrustful stranger in place of the young filly who had turned yearling so much earlier than she would have ever realized.

From the forest and out to the cliff, my legs did seem to carry me. I had thought that my travels were in no particular direction, but as fate would have it, there was always purpose in my rambling. Night had fallen over the Edge and the moon hung high above us, watching with her careful gaze to ensure our safety. At times I wondered if she would be able to protect us if we had exchanged stations with the Foothills. Would she have warned us of their ascent or barred the borders from their arrival? Somehow I thought that she owed none of this to us, owed nothing but her faithful service to those who called upon her in these twilight hours. But at times, I wished for such stability and wished for her words so tender upon my ear… However, they never came to absolve me, to comfort me; I was but a mere name amongst her loyal disciples, one that may never even pass her lips.

The soft folds of night told sorrowful stories through silent whispers and sometimes I found myself longing to indulge them. But they were hard to hear and even more difficult to understand. Perhaps it was pure destiny that I stumbled upon the Nurse that night or perhaps it was just odd luck. However, to see her peering over the edge of the cliff’s wide face was enough to spark recognition, one that reminded me of myself. Had I not faced the vastness of the sea many times before, searching for something other than mere cause? Maybe I debated my life and how I planned to live it, but no matter what I thought of, it all led me to the same resolution- I was the only one who could help myself.

I did not go to her immediately but instead settled into easy observation. Whatever pained her was something that she would have to cope with herself, but I did pity her. I pitied her the troubles she faced and I pitied her choices thus far. I had heard of her absence from the Edge and then her spontaneous return- but why? Why would she place so much strain on an otherwise healthy relationship with life? I had spoken to her but once and they were formal words that held no true meaning at best. But as she overlooked her fate beneath the moonlight, I felt a sort of sympathy for her pain, despite the fact that she had done as much to herself. However, I was not biased in her situation because it was clear that Mirage thought much of her or had at least found forgiveness in her heart to sooth the ache of betrayal.

From the dust, to the dust… Tor had never really changed. But this was her time to prove us wrong in spite of her many errors. Was not everyone blessed with second chances? I only hoped that these were not wasted.

I had though it wise to stand back and allow solitude to make introduction before I did so myself, but as all things are unpredictable, I was quickly beat to the chase. A filly, much resembling the mare in question approached from the long shadows. It pained me to see such destruction upon the face of innocence and it made me think quietly of Essetia. To lose one’s guardian was one thing, but to be left? Well, that was another. Her voice was high-pitched, geared to cover whatever emotions roiled beneath a poised surface as the filly struggled to stand her ground against the deafening silence. Her words made me cringe and they nearly forced me from my position as an unknowing bystander in favor of going to comfort her. But, I tried to remind myself that this was their battle, not my own.
However I did not expect for the Nurse to try and pass judgment on her own daughter. She was not to blame for her mother’s mistakes. If anyone were to stand trial for those errors, it would not be this girl, so tainted by choices that were not her own.

I struggled once more to adhere to my mind and not to my heart, but all composure had been ripped quite willingly from my hands. “I do not believe that regret would pertain to such emotions Tor, though perhaps you’ve mistake the term for resentment.” I could refrain no longer from the battle waged between agony and ignorance and so I moved forth. The heft of each step told of my reservations and the sound of the stone, so hollow beneath my hooves, sounded against the tender quiet like a cry in the night. I nodded to the Nurse with a bit of shame, clearly in need of explanation as well for her indecency. I had heard Mirage’s verdict on the mare and I did not plan to stand in the way of Tor’s devotions if they remained true. But my sentiments were little in compassion compared to the wide-eyed filly wondering desperately why her own mother had left her side. “Though I am curious, Nurse, how you plan to prove your loyalty to this family, to the Edge? I have heard of your return and perhaps I can recall the day I met you at the Healer’s gathering- but I do question whether or not your fervor back then had been true? What has aided your return that did not burden you upon your departure?”

I had stolen her limelight and all chances of fabricating answers for a child who would never understand. You do not leave a family when it would appear you are needed most. You defy your hardships in order to sustain your morals and your responsibilities. Life was not something you could run from forever.

*"You should be in bed."*

Laila clamped her muzzle shut, suppressing the urge to scream and rail at her mother; she knew it was only a small comment, made perhaps out of the undying insistence at motherhood and parenthood—but to the ebony filly in her moment of passionate anger, it felt as though the ivory mare was mocking the situation, as though she were making light of the pain and confusion Laila was feeling about it all. Her hooves became intensely hot indeed; Laila couldn’t help the uncormfortable groan that escaped her lips as she began shifting from hoof to hoof, trying to find comfort from her burning frogs. Ther was something wrong with this picture. Laila didn’t know what, but it felt like something was rumbling in her limbs and feet, desperate for release, begging Laila to unleash it into the world. She didn’t know what it was, and surely didn’t want to take the chance to find out. Not now. Not at this fragile time.

*"Did you miss me?"*

It was possibly the tiniest set of words Laila ever caught in the rushing, salty winds of the World’s Edge, and yet somehow she caught them. As they floated into her ears, some dam deep within decided that it was entirely too much--and it burst forth in the form of hot, salty tears that fell from Laila’s eyes unchecked. They were thick, swiftly falling things, filled with all the intensity Laila felt about her mother’s return—all the anger, sadness, apprehension, and blinding happiness she felt whenever she gazed upon the ivory mare. She made no move to wipe them away, or indeed, she never even shifted her gaze from Tor. Instead Laila continued to listen to her mother’s explanation, desperately trying to make sense of her mother’s side of things. As every word and syllable drifted toward Laila, one question was repeated in the filly’s mind, increasing in volume until Laila had a hard time picking up her mother’s tormented voice.

Why didn’t you tell us? As swiftly as the tears fell, Laila’s demeanor remained dignified all throughout; not even a sob wracked her chest. Why did you leave without telling us this? It was the root of her sadness; why had her mother left without so much as a word? Laila had literally woken up one day to an empty nest; she had searched and searched, and yet her mother was nowhere to be seen. The memory made the tears fall even thicker, and Laila couldn’t hold her tongue anymore. She had to say something—anything—to her mother, to try and make her understand how desperately Laila wanted to trust her again and how hard it was to do so.

However, someone else beat her to it.

*“I do not believe that regret would pertain to such emotions Tor, though perhaps you’ve mistake the term for resentment.”*

Laila blinked through her tears, turning to see the new arrival and interloper in their conversation. Except it wasn’t an intruder—it was a large, hulking behemoth of a stallion even larger than her own father, a brute with small, malformed wings and the kindest, gentlest eyes sitting deep within their sockets. Laila remembered his face; he was Thor the Gentleheart, named Weyrleader at their last herd meeting. The turmoil she felt at Tor’s return made the memory fuzzy, but she remembered nonetheless. There was a new king in town, and here he was in the flesh. Hastily Laila dipped her head in respect, honored by his presence. “Gentleheart,” she said with reverence; she was pleased to hear her voice had not been affected by her violent weeping, and that she spoke out as clearly and robustly as ever.

*“Though I am curious, Nurse, how you plan to prove your loyalty to this family, to the Edge? I have heard of your return and perhaps I can recall the day I met you at the Healer’s gathering- but I do question whether or not your fervor back then had been true? What has aided your return that did not burden you upon your departure?”*

His words resonated within Laila—in an instant, the ebony filly realized she had been somewhat selfish in her anger. She attributed Tor’s actions strictly to how they affected herself and her family first and foremost—but had completely forgotten that they had also affected the herd entire. Laila kept silent because Thor had said very eloquently what was going on inside her head; I want to trust you mother. I want to love you and accept you and forget about all this. I want to go back to the happy family we were.

But how can I trust you not to run away again?

With infinite sadness, Tor watched her daughter's tears fall.

What dejection she felt; despondent, mournful, tragic, regrettable, disgraceful, wretched, despairing of herself and her habits. For had it not become a habit, an awful, horrible, cruel habit of dropping whoever was with her and setting out on irremediable missions to save this or that and try to fix obsolete problems caused from her irresponsible self. Tor felt her own self heating, burning up from the inside out, impossibly hot rage at the fact she left Laila, the daughter she cared for so much, with every inch of her heart, was flooded with tears because of Tor. How could she have done this? Yet the tears fell so silently, without a trembling heave of the ebony chest, a filly turned to stone by Tor's stupidity, not sheltering the dear child so loved. No child should shed tears like she did, a waterfall of misery and regret.

Tor stood, wanting desperately to come, to comfort the mare, to end this quibble and brush away those tears, to nurture her gently and tend to her, love her and let the sincerity of never letting her go wash over her, instead of standing here impassively, as silent and unmoving as the blackened shrine of dragons and twisted metal. Yet when she tried to step forward, to brush her muzzle over her ears and nibble her forelock, to arch her neck and bring the black yearling growing hard too fast in her warm embrace. But she could not move. Her feet were lead; and oddly, her vision was blurring. The mare so fragile nearly wept herself, for the devastation wrecked on her family. How dare she do such an atrocious thing, to ruin and desecrate? For now, every time she was left alone, and even around 'her' herd, she struggled to come to terms with the feelings she had created.

The white lady heard the crackle of twigs and the snap of great hooves, and she turned her head, the wind snarling in her ears, snaring wild fingers in her mane and tail. It was stallion, massive in size and build- but no greater than her own pearl bulk. Yet whereas she was simple alabaster and cream, and equine, he had his own fair differences. Firstly, his mane and tail was deeper than a shade of ebony; his coat was a muted mahogany bay, his eyes very much the same as Tor's. Mostly, what was noticeable was his wings, coarse black feathers coating small, even delicate, appendages. Tor recognized him, a bland figure in her mind, with nothing attributed to him. They had but spoken perhaps a sentence to each other, a formal, stiffly worded introduction, however much kindness may have been portrayed. She knew nothing of his nature, but perhaps the legend title given to him spoke for his personality. Thor the Gentle Heart. But then, Tor could be considered a gentle heart, and it did not speak for her many faults and errors of the past.

Tor studied him with sorrowful eyes, except 'sorrow' was a poor word to convey the sadness and idea of a difficult time ahead. It seemed she was somehow right, in one odd way or another. For he said she mistook regret for resentment, and in that aspect, he was wrong. For resent was bitterness and indignation, at unjust treatment. In no way did she think her treatment was wrong- for the numerous things she had done. She understood the consequences of her actions, albeit not as fully as she should, maybe. Regret, on the other hoof, was the feeling of sadness over something lost. Only one of them suited her correctly right now- like a glove, in fact. "No, Thor the Gentle. Resentment is anger over poor treatment. Regret is sadness. I do not feel anger that horses do not trust me as I trust all around me. No. I have condemned myself, and I only expect this treatment." Tor replied, allowing the slightest edge of anger to enter her voice, most unlike her. "Do not think I am so foolish to expect wholehearted trust, when my own faith is broken." Faith in what, the mare did not say. It was too private to say outloud, or to any other than Destrier.

As for the next question, Tor near-bristled, her ears flicking back and forth. Perhaps she was over reacting, yet she felt as if Thor was attacking her. Had Mirage not told him she was working to gain approval of every horse in the herd? "I most respectfully ask you if you are aware of the fact Mirage has set me with the task to gain approval of each Tier 3 and above member of this herd. Naturally, I do not only hope to complete this, but also regain the trust of those equal to me. Thor, to be frank, I know not how I will gain this. Time is often the best healer. If I may do anything, perhaps, for you, mayhaps I can assist you in some way, or answer any questions, in order to convince you of my determination in this situation, just tell me and I would be most happy to comply." Tor answered, her voice curiously formal, as if slightly closing up.

Laila was surely going to burst. She watched her mother’s agony shift across that alabaster face—watched as her mother felt pain at the sight of her own tears. The sight caused that dull, misplaced pain within Laila’s gut to twist and cut the hole even wider and deeper. I hate this, she was screaming in her mind, I hate it, I hate it! Why is this happening? Why does it need to happen? So much pain being exchanged, passed from mother to daughter—and it really didn’t need to happen at all. The hot tears continued to fall at an ever steady rate; the ebony cheeks were soaked, and a violent sob wracked her body. Laila took a deep breath, letting the cool air suffuse her lungs and try to sooth the heat of her passions. She needed to calm down. I need to keep a level head. There was nothing to gain with spontaneous combustion—and Laila very much felt as though she might catch on fire at any moment.

*“Do you have a name darling?”*

Startled out of her reverie, Laila’s head snapped up to look at her colossal Weyrleader.

*“I should hope to see those shining eyes free of tears; you are amongst family who will stand beside you without question here. Perhaps I can even introduce you to my own daughter if it is ever of interest to you.”*

Laila felt another sob threaten to emerge from her chest—but she suppressed it, sucking heaping breaths of air in an attempt to stem the flow of tears. As she craned her neck to look into the warm eyes of the Gentle heart, some soft comfort settled on Laila’s back like snowflakes. She was suddenly reminded of her father—so large, strong, and ever noble in his love for his offspring—and even of Tor, back in the day when Laila looked up at the alabaster mare while the latter told stories of wolves and unicorns. It was a calming sort of tonic—and inspiring too, as it allowed Laila to achieve her endeavor to calm her aching heart. With a final, shaky breath, the dam in her heart was restored and her eyes started to dry. At this moment, Laila suddenly realized the meaning of her choice to become Protector of the herd—and the depth of her passion for it.

But the Weyrleader was talking again, though this time these words for her own mother. Laila listened, saddened by the biting, overly formal phrases they spoke to each other with. It was another twist of the dagger-pain, but now Laila had a hold on such emotions.

*“…You are welcome here Tor because I feel that you can change, but you will not receive my blessing to move forward until you have seen to it that your own daughter trusts you. The tiers hold no importance to your gain if you cannot successfully prove yourself to your own family…”*

A great weight abruptly settled itself on Laila’s small shoulders. You will not receive my blessing to move forward until you have seen to it that your own daughter trusts you. Very suddenly, Laila found herself in control of her mother’s fate. She could refuse forgives in her heart, as suspicious as she was, and ultimately doom her own mother an outcast….if she so wanted. Yet after so much turmoil within her heart and confusion regarding her mother’s verdict in her mind—at this moment, the ebony filly suddenly knew what to do.

“Mother, I don’t hate you,” she said suddenly—and for once Laila’s voice was a small thing, yet no less impassioned because of it. “I don’t want you to leave. I love you so much—and I just want you home. That’s all. I just want you home.” Tears threatened somewhere deep in Laila’s throat, but she conquered them before they even had a chance to rise. Laila was master of herself. Instead of letting those weak things betray her, Laila steeled herself—and took a step towards her mother. “I’m just scared you’ll leave again. You left—and didn’t tell us why. If you choose to abandon me and Lu-Lu and daddy again, it won’t be nearly as painful as not hearing a word from you again.” Laila paused, looking at her mother with bloodshot, chocolate eyes. “Just tell us if you want to leave. Just…tell us. And…maybe I can come with you? Maybe…I could protect you, too? Would you give me that chance?” She gave a weak, watery smile to her mother—and took another step toward her.

*“You must remember that you are welcome to call upon Essetia or myself whenever the need is present. We are also part of your family and I would hope that you would acknowledge us as such.”*

Laila paused in her venture towards her mother, looking up into the Gentleheart’s eyes with warm gratitude, “Thank you, sir,” she said, some of her usual bubbliness coloring her tear-soaked voice, “I really do appreciate that. I look forward to meeting Essetia…I would love to make friends.” After flashing her Weyrleader with a sincere grin, she turned towards Tor again, that ivory mare, and took another hesitant step towards her. Hoping, wishing with all her heart that her mother would allow her that small gift of touch.


[OOC: Sorry for the hold-up! :c ]

With infinite sadness, Tor watched her daughter's tears fall.

What dejection she felt; despondent, mournful, tragic, regrettable, disgraceful, wretched, despairing of herself and her habits. For had it not become a habit, an awful, horrible, cruel habit of dropping whoever was with her and setting out on irremediable missions to save this or that and try to fix obsolete problems caused from her irresponsible self. Tor felt her own self heating, burning up from the inside out, impossibly hot rage at the fact she left Laila, the daughter she cared for so much, with every inch of her heart, was flooded with tears because of Tor. How could she have done this? Yet the tears fell so silently, without a trembling heave of the ebony chest, a filly turned to stone by Tor's stupidity, not sheltering the dear child so loved.

It was strange how under other circumstances, she may have found Thor likeable, but at this moment every word he said seemed to worsen the situation. Tor was being stubborn, maybe, or overly-sensitive, but was it necessary for him to pour salt in open wounds? "Thor." Tor said softly, abruptly, voice hovering somewhere in a no-man's-land zone between furious and wounded. "I have been selfish. I will not lie. You do not, however, need to open wounds further when I am trying to heal them." The white lady sighs, a heavy thing in her chest that grates on the air.

Perhaps she could have well gotten over the dark stallion if he had not insulted her again. Did he think she would not want to heal the break in her family? Did he think that she would finish the bonds off entirely? If he did... the dark-eyed mare stared at him in full and furious anger and shock, and hurt as well. Yet Tor did not comment on the fact the stallion had just ripped another gash in her fragile body. Nothing could be gained from hurting the WeyrLeader back... and it was selfish to bring others down around her to drive herself upwards. No, she could not be so mean as to sink to that. Hastily the gypsy dropped her eyes, not wanting to show the torrent of emotions that plagued her with a monstrous hunger. For one thing, she found it difficult to want the bay's friendship when he placed her approval in the hooves of a child. Tor was willing to accept whatever Laila decided to make of her, she truly was. But he was not judging her, but letting those... again her thoughts fell apart in a whirlwind, and she stopped.

The white mare, so appropriately titled gypsy by Thor, stared out over the ocean, not wishing to confuse the child. No, not the child, her daughter. So she listened. It was not relief that come with the first words, but heartbreak. I don't hate you. How could the words not get any worse? Hate. The deepest of pitiless dislike, no matter how petty or misplaced it may be. In this case, Tor would not call it misplaced if her family decided to take that route.

And then, she was crying.

She stepped forward, the other words of a yearling lost, and rested her muzzle upon the black filly's forehead, tears lost in the snarling wind, her chest trembling slightly, both broken and healed at the same time. For a long minute Tor stood like this, wracked by emotion, shutting her eyes with lashes full of tears, and she could not hide the small sob that came from her. "I will tell you. Always. But I will not leave again, little warrior. I will always be here. Never again will I be so stupid... so foolish as to..." Then the words were lost and she simply stepped back, eyes full of too much emotion that the world seemed to blurred.

[M.E. if you consider this too much powerplay I will remove!]

Had my mind wandered so far from reach that I had simply decided to overlook the paint’s sudden entrance? The world had paused around me and now I couldn’t help but feel replaced form the situation at hand. I didn’t know what the Nurse was looking for, at least not in the context provided here. I feared that whatever desires she wished to satisfy were needs that I could not grant. But, Solstice was right… Mirage had granted Tor a second chance and though I couldn’t imagine any good coming from it, I decided to hear her out. In spite of her many transgressions, I had always claimed to value equality and today was no different… was it?

“All transgressions aside, I would expect your undivided loyalty to this family and in return I will grant you my blessing.” It was hard for me to say that I wasn’t a bit reluctant to open my arms to the Nurse again but what else could I do in such a predicament? Her life was here, like it or not, and I wasn’t going to be the one that stood in the way of her sudden, though albeit anticipated, return. I looked to Solstice for a moment, nodding gently at her kindness. I envied her manners when it came to confrontation- or at least what I knew of them. I was certainly more than willing to forgive Tor’s grievances if it meant I was free to go. I’d had enough of the sobbing and the lies, after all, her disappearance had not affected me as much as her own family. Surely she would be dealing with the ramifications long after today; the least I could do was give her the green light she was so desperately looking for and let those that really mattered to her convict her for her crimes.

However, I still had one last matter to deal with before I turned to go. Laila was still quietly festering over her mother’s decisions in spite of her admission of forgiveness. In reality, I couldn’t deem her statement to be anything close to absolution, but the least I could do was offer her an encouraging smile. I hadn’t the patience to remain any longer in the Nurse’s company and therefore turned to Solstice in hopes that she would accompany me to walk and talk. It appeared as though there were so many things I still needed to learn about everyone since accepting my position as WeyrLeader and I figured that now would be as good a time as any.

“May you find the forgiveness you seek Tor. Welcome back.”

With every tear that fell from her mother’s chocolate eye, Laila’s heart and mind throbbed with excruciating pain. This must end, she chanted in her soul; the words were spoken deep down in her chest, a reverberant echo: This must end. This must end.

The ebony filly was beginning to lose track; what had started this mess? Why had Tor decided to leave? Why didn’t she say a word? Why was this fury ignited in Laila’s chest? And now, what compelled her alabaster mother to stand there and cry in earnest, her own spirit seemingly leaking past those lashes? Was there no mercy to be shared; was it all just crying and betrayal and the heartbreak of shattered trust? The arrival of the other Healer didn’t quite hearten the filly; the words spoken by the honest, well-meaning paint only served to twist the knife ever deeper into Laila’s own wounds; she could only imagine the pain her mother might be feeling.

*“But I will not leave again, little warrior.*

Her mother’s tears ran down that pale cheek, streaming onto Laila’s brow and trickling down the badger face, a silver stream of regret and the plea of redemption. Laila let her mother’s tears trickle down her face, feeling incredibly safe and hurt by her mother’s warm, gentle touch; her mind was screaming, no longer striving for clarity or strength. She was close to surrendering to her mother’s passion—the tears were very near her own eyes again. Words meant nothing to Laila now. There had been time for talk, and there had been talk enough—none of that had stopped her mother from leaving her. The only thing that could completely convince Laila that her mother was here for good was living a lifetime within her mother’s embrace. Until then, there would always be some fragile part of Laila’s being that clung to her family, terrified for their absence; she was strong only with her blood there to support her, keep her warm, help her stand tall. Luken. Destrier. Tor. Without them, Laila had no strength.

Without them, she was just a tiny filly terrified of the world.

Some inner part of Laila’s body screamed in panic as her mother’s muzzle left her brow, severing their touch—no. No, Laila needed her mother. She stumbled forward, willing herself to fall into the crook of her mother’s shoulder and neck; she wanted to bury herself in the thick column, basking in the scent and heat of that alabaster hide. It had been too long since she went without her mother’s embrace; she needed it now.

Thor spoke, but Laila paid no mind to the meaning of his words. She was sad to see him go, however; she tore herself from Tor’s side for just a second, watching the behemoth turn to leave the scene with obvious distaste. She hated seeing her Weyrleader so caught up with her mother’s mistakes; his bulk, his gentle eye, and his quiet smile in her direction reminded her so much of Destrier, and the filly suddenly began to pine for her father as well. Where was Papa? She needed him; his safety, his unbroken promise, his security and strength—she needed him just as much as she needed her mother’s love.

She needed them, for otherwise the filly would break apart.



[I dreamed I replied to this thread, and so I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry @.@]