She is surprised two-fold when Illlusion’s lips brush her skin, drawing a pleasant shudder down the length of her black neck, and when the golden mare reveals she is a mother already. Shararat smiles. Her companion —her friend— seems a capable dam, compassionate and warm-hearted. Nurturing in all the ways a mother should be. The Arabian tucks her chin nearer to her chest thoughtfully, exhaling against each wave to deter the water from slipping up her nose. With a rolemodel such as Illusion to guide her, perhaps motherhood is an attainable option for her. It seems such a scary ordeal to undertake alone: how much is a foal shaped by the undercurrents of generations passed down from body to body, and how much is influenced by the horse, or horses, who raise them?
Shararat lifts her head and turns to press her muzzle against Illusion’s warm shoulder. "She will be all right," she says comfortingly. "Recall how you struck out on your own as a filly, and take heart. It is the way of the world to part from one’s mother. How else would we move forward as individuals?" She exhales softly against gold skin. "No doubt you’ve raised a capable filly. Time now to let her be her own mare."
Her ears tip back and she squints, throwing her head up with a laugh. "But surely you know all this much more than me, having raised her yourself. Come," she turns, sloshing back toward shore and the slope of beach which awaits. "This beach is lacking in tracks, and I’ve a mind to cover it with my own." So saying she trots out of the ocean, snapping water-weight from her tail as she flags it and prances in a half circle while she waits for her friend to catch up. With a playful nip toward Illusion’s shoulder, Shararat wheels in a half-rear and launches herself down the beach, merriment dancing in her eyes. |