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Her ears pricked forward, interest bright in her amber eyes as the painted mare introduced herself as Cricket. Pilar thought it curious that she would be named for a creature so small and yet be so tall, but somehow the word devoid of its meaning seemed to fit her. “So nice to meet you Cricket!” She chirped in response, trying the name of her hopefully new friend on her tongue. Yes, it worked perfectly. As she mentioned her father, Pilar wondered still if he was responsible for her moniker—it occurred to her in that same instant that when Cricket was named she would have been a child, small and bounding much like that of her namesake. She hardly knew a filly that kept still.
It was a memory she imbued with fondness, filled with assumptions of a happy childhood that Pilar had absolutely no true knowledge of. Yet, it hardly mattered. It was more important to the dappled brown mare that she enjoy the thought without regard to her own naivety on the subject—anything to distract her from the reality of her own upbringing.
“Oh the Peak,” she remarked, her tone shifting toward wistful admiration as her gaze drifted from Cricket over to the silhouette of the mountain in the distance. “I have never been, though I know a little of the women there and their past conquests.” Truthfully, Pilar didn’t know much—only that they were often at odds with the stallions of the Lagoon. She hastily pushed the memory of that acrid place from her mind, in no way wishing to relive her short but tumultuous time there.
“I like to come here to admire the waterfall sometimes,” Pilar answered, looking back over her shoulder at the large pillar of water that relentlessly poured into the pool. “I wish I could be that strong…”
pilar
all I am is meant to bleed and bloom
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