It would seem that like all children. My attention upon surrounds was destined to be dull at best, I started unintentionally when the soft plops of another set of hooves caught me unaware. Plum head turned toward the sound to meet a set of mismatched eyes that were pleasantly new to me and appeared to mirror my instant growth of curiosity. Nerves had already soothed by the time this new adult started to approach. Not a sliver of fear bore across my features, indeed it was quite the opposite. Innocent to the core, I smiled a contagious grin when the ebony mare drew near; (it was yet to be learned that not everyone would be so easily befriended.) Her dark coloring reminded me of momma, this trait somehow gave extra confidence that there was nothing to be concerned about.

”Girl.”

I blink, her tone worries little lines across my facade and my smile falters. For a moment I expect that this lady was going to scowl me for trailing away from mother. Adults had a tendency to scowl. ”How beautiful you are.” It takes a moment for the adoring meaning to take hold, she has just complimented me. Once I realize the intent my beam quickly returns, the stranger certainly wasn’t angry. Momma had called me beautiful before. My memory slipped back to when I had found a broken eggshell, it was pale white and scattered across the frosty ground. I had repeated the word with mixed results. It had appeared beautiful to me.

”You live here also? Where is your mother?”

Two simple questions, ones I can readily answer. Gently I press with outstretched fingers trying to grasp her mind; my body remains motionless. The lowering of brows to signal intense concentration is the only movement worth taking note. Gently as only a child can move, I attempt to touch the dark resesses of her mind with soft featherlight fingertips. An image filters from my mind and travels up the link hopefully into hers. The image is one of my mother standing in the place I last saw. A place that wasn’t far, from what I could guess it was behind a thicket close by. To finalize the meaning I gently whisper ‘Momma’ into her so that she might fully understand. After a moment the image vanishes altogether. This is where I usually withdraw, but I decide against it and instead I try to ask a question of my own by first showing this woman an image of herself and then quietly asking, ‘Who…are.. you?’ The words come broken and slow but they come clearly as if my lips had moved to speak.