in the darkness, thick and black around them, she can feel the flare of the young filly’s temper somehow. the hot aching cloak of shame she feels weighing down on her is flung back by wasp’s anger. she has her own youth and inexperience, not unlike the filly before her. she was terribly disappointed in herself for the loss of her sestra, macabre, but she was glad she tried, proud that at least she had stood up and gave it her all. this small fragment of pride makes ugly contact with wasp’s comments and perhaps that is why her own temper flares in response, she has never had much patience. and she hasn’t felt the bloom of maternal instinct take place without a foal ever having graced her side. her own voice is loud, stern and cold as she quickly retorts. i have fought. i will again. you are děvče. just a child. you do not speak like this to me. her own snort echoes loudly off the rocks as the filly turns tail and clambers away. she remains in place, still as a stone gargoyle atop a castle, each muscle rigid and tense. she is tired, worn physically and emotionally from both the battle and this tense encounter. she dozes fitfully, both irritated and worried by wasp and her outburst. she can only hope that the sun has set on both their tempers and that with dawn they will both be able to see more clearly.

as the sun bloomed around her she opened her eyes groggily, somewhat displeased that she had fallen asleep so soundly and somewhat relieved to have gotten the rest when it was sorely needed. she has little time to mull over the sour exchange last night between her and her charge before wasp appears, tentative and clearly also uncomfortable. the huge black mare snorts apprehensively, uncertain how to proceed, and relaxes a bit, lowering her proud head to the level of the smaller filly when she speaks. her heart lurches with an ugly pang at the sadness in wasp’s voice, wishing more than anything that she could have prevented it, but she rights herself quickly enough. her voice cuts clearly through the morning as she speaks firmly but not unkindly. we are both sorry. sorry does not change our dějiny, our actions. we must always behave with honor… she lets the words linger in the air for a moment, her eyes coming to rest on her companion, waiting for the spark of a challenge and hoping to find none. i fail yesterday. i will be better bojovník, better fighter next time. i learn from yesterday. you must too. she smiles gently, hoping that admitting her fault in this will be an offering of peace, an olive branch. she has plans for them both and she is counting on the vigorous young filly to help her achieve them.