Meadow

The peaceful morning atmosphere in the Meadow was destined to end. Cerosi knew this, but even so she was taken off guard at the manner in which the calm was shattered. As she stood in the tall grass, cloaked in a thin fog that was only just beginning to burn away under the lazy rising sun, she caught the mumblings of the shaggy stallion across the clearing. Cerosi might have been nearly invisible where she lingered — she was still, quiet, and roughly the same color as the fog — but the stallion was rather easy to spot. He had similar coloring, but he was making quite a bit of noise as he stamped and swore to himself and marched toward her.

For a short time, Cerosi wondered if he had seen her. He was making a beeline toward her in the mist, but she could not see his eyes, and his ears were buried beneath the shaggy mane. She let him approach, curious as to what she might have done to set off his temper, having never met him before. Her ears twisted back as she watched him thrash closer and closer, until — almost too late — she realized quite foolishly that she was about to be bowled over. He had not, in fact, seen her standing there, and it was likely his tantrum had nothing to do with her at all.

Irritated, Cerosi stepped to the side just as the body of the stranger was about to collide with hers. The two of them seemed to catch themselves almost at the same time, though Cerosi felt substantially more stupid for having watched him approach and still almost got herself run over. Her ears twisted back in irritation, and she gave a squeal of disapproval as he came to a halt. He stuttered something about looking for his father, and Cerosi snorted unhelpfully.

“Unless you’re one of Dexter’s other spawn, and I wouldn’t be too surprised,” she said dryly, “I can’t say I have. And if you are one of Dexter’s, I’m sorry to tell you that the old scarecrow is dead. Hope that helps.”

She started to turn away, to escape this awkward situation and her own embarrassment over not moving out of the way, when a deeper voice from much higher above joined the rather unfriendly conversation. Cerosi was not in the mood to socialize — she never really was, but especially not with her nerves a little bit frayed and her patience tested — and she cast her golden gaze up to the tall newcomer in annoyance. He was much more polite than she was being, and part of her wanted to scoff at him for trying to help. Give up, she wanted to tell the two of them bitterly. You cannot find a father who does not want to be found.

But the sooty bay seemed entirely unbothered by the prospect of helping a stranger, and Cerosi was in no position to dissuade him. It was none of her business, and anyway, the two looked younger than her by a few years. Not that Cerosi was old, but she had outgrown her naivety much sooner than most. Who was she to get in the way of the black-marked stallion’s search for his sire.

When the bay stallion apologized, Cerosi sighed. She had not failed to notice the smaller male make an effort to calm his foul mood, and she supposed he did have a decent excuse for it. Hadn’t she been just this irate, if not more, the first few months after her own abandonment? Her own girls had had their fair share of tantrums after Cain disappeared, and although Cerosi was not convinced he had left willingly, it was difficult for her daughters to see that possibility, or to really understand the difference. Zemirah, at least, had really struggled. You should be more empathetic, she thought to herself, and growled at the softness of her internal voice. She had not gone through hell and back before arriving here just to get soft.

But was being bitter really any better?

No, it probably wasn’t, she concluded. Cerosi closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning their wolf-yellow gaze back to the smaller stallion. “What’s he look like?” she asked, trying to soften her tone. “Maybe we can help you search.”