Armastus was in a sort of daze. Partly it was because she was happy that her foal was finally here, breathing, and healthy. But part of it was also with worry. Was her foal healthy on the inside too? Minna was beautiful in everyway, even more beautiful than she imagined. But when she herd her talk, saw the way she moved, it was as if she had an aged soul, and she was much older than she was. When the stallion asked if she was alright, she vaguely nodded, caught up in such worries. She trailed slowly behind them, letting her thoughts swirl. A small voice snapped her back.
"Why don't I have wings?" Minna asked, her little voice showing no curiousity, as if it was just a statement. She paused for a minute, as if thinking. "Are the wings what make you...sad?" There was a little more curiousity in her question, but it sounded as though she just had doubt in her own opinion. "You are beautiful though." She again continued, "Your name fits."
Armastus just stared at the foal, her shock just an echo in her eyes, for she had gotten used to the foals questions. But what about Morbid, what did he think? That brought Armastus to another thing, did he mind if she called him Morbid, even if it was only in her mind? Other thoughts, unwanted, then gushed into her mind, like a flood. Why wasn't she just accepting her child? Why did Minna's face lack of happiness? Any emotion at all? More questions came in, uninvited. So many thoughts at once, and it seemed they all fought for her attention. The one that held it was the one that had been pestering her for weeks. Did she love Morbid? To anyone else, it would seem ridiculous that she was wondering about this now, but to her, it was the only thing she could focus on. If she didn't, she'd go insane, for all the questions would be a jumble in her mind. If her focus diverted fully for just a second, the clear pathway from one place to another in her mind would flood, and she'd be lost, lost in her own thoughts.
It was if she was going crazy, and the mare hated it. She wanted just to have control again. She wanted to be able to clear her mind, and move on. But of course, she couldn't. That would mean asking these questions, and then she would look as crazy as she felt. She suddenly realised she was no longer moving, just standing there, in the middle of the grass. The wind blew slightly, whipping her tail and mane softly. It was eerily quiet, and the mare contemplated on whether she should admit defeat. In the end, the thought of relief seemed more pleasant, sane, than the alternative.
"I'm not okay." She whispered, before she quickly went to go lay down by the tree she had slept by the first night by the lake. |
