drag my teeth across your chest
to taste your beating heart

Fishbone waited patiently as the mother’s eyes crossed over her before permission came. When it did, she drew closer to the pair, her mismatched eyes intent upon the colt as he turned around to face her. When she lowered her head towards him and saw his eyes, she let out a small huff of surprise.

The colour of them was distinctive, one she had seen less than a handful of times in her many years and the many new-borns she had gazed upon. Tinged with something like clouds, pale and unfocused even as he reached towards her.

Blind.

Fishbone breathed in his scent deeply as he lipped at her. She lifted her head and nodded, a faint murmur of acknowledgement echoing from her throat. How strange that such an omen would follow her, after all that had happened. It was a message, she was sure of it.

She looked to the mother, whose entire expression was melted with infatuation. Oswald, she titled him.

“Why did you choose it?” Fishbone asked bluntly, curious of the meaning behind it.

She paused a moment, unusually hesitant to speak. The last time she had given her thoughts on a foal, she had been driven away. She considered her options, but the familiar itch inside her chest begged her to speak. At least, she supposed, if this mare did not take kindly to her, she had not yet grown attached to this place.

“His eyes,” she said, her voice rough and husky. “They are a rare affliction.”

She spoke plainly, no trace of judgement or concern in her tone, although the words alone perhaps seemed tactless. To her, it was merely a statement of fact. It was unemotional.

“They will see other things, though. Things the rest of us do not. I have seen it.”

FISHBONE
FISHBONE