Merete had never intended to become a mother. Her own dam had left her nothing in the way of maternal skills or advice, and she had seen for herself what it was like to grow up under the wing of a woman who was not devoted to raising you. Merete had no intention of giving any child of hers anything less than a truly whole experience. But fate had a funny way of working sometimes. The night she had spent with that young stallion had been an accident, to put it bluntly. She was not like her mother – she didn’t seduce freely and simply hope the consequences would not be dire. It had been some long years since she had even felt the touch of another, and perhaps the abstinence had made her weak. Then he had come along, by pure chance, all handsome smiles and honeyed words – ones she knew better than to believe, and yet had allowed herself to listen to all the same. He had been young, too – confident as he was, she had known there was an age gap between them immediately. Perhaps that had contributed – no stallion much younger than her had looked at her with desire for a long time. It seemed so exciting at the time, she forgot herself, but she had been filled with embarrassment when she relived the events soon after. When her belly had begun to swell, she had been filled with terror. What a foolish woman she had been, for one night of pleasure to escape the loneliness of her quiet life in the Peak. She barely left the mountain during her pregnancy, half terrified to accept what was happening and half worried someone might ask her about its origin. Once her baby came, however, that terror faded – only a little – and was replaced by an unshakeable bond of love. She had always half-thought mothers were exaggerating when they spoke about their children, but in that moment she nudged her new-born into life and looked into that tiny, golden face, Merete knew then that she would die for this child. She would do whatever it took to make her safe and happy. That was why she stood there, that pleasantly mild autumn afternoon, watching her daughter like a hawk as she leapt and gambled through the long grasses in the Meadow. Drika was always sneaking a little further away each time Merete looked away. She thought her mother didn’t notice, but Merete’s tawny gaze never left her for more than a second, and a smile curled her dark lips as she looked on. For once, she felt a little less alone. |