¤
“I appreciate that sentiment,” Pilar replied with gratitude, suddenly feeling a little sheepish for having admitted something so personal to someone she’d only just met. It was a compulsion, she supposed, to reveal private things was her attempt at making a connection—a subconscious tendency that often didn’t do precisely what she hoped it would. Too honest, maybe.
Truthfully, Pilar didn’t know what she thought of real strength. It certainly didn’t mean raw power, but more persistence. Yes, the waterfall certainly had both—but what she admired most was its consistency. All she wanted was a taste of it, however unattainable it seemed.
Pilar’s ears flicked forward at mention of stories of the Peak mares, her eyes quickly rapt with attention. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard a proper story,” she remarked. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to hear one,” she finished. “Perhaps one of your favorites?”
The dappled brown mare tilted her head slightly to the side, the edge of her lips curling into a timid but hopeful smile. She didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but perhaps her new friend would indulge her. She was not so fortunate to hear tales of great warriors or heroes in her youth—perhaps if she was accustomed to such teachings she might have grown into a different individual entirely. Cricket seemed confident, so in Pilar’s mind there was a small chance she might transmit a little of that confidence to her with this story. As if such shared rituals were contagious.
pilar
all I am is meant to bleed and bloom
|
|