She needed to get away. Not badly enough that she wanted to run away and never look back, but badly enough that the thought of staying one more minute in the Bay would drive her half-mad. There was too much sad there on top of too much strange, and while having Ivo there was a comfort, she was struggling to find her place among the pines and the herd. Fell had never been anything but tolerant of her presence, but her mother's anxieties had a way of rubbing off on her and she kept waiting for someone to call out her otherness as each of her siblings appeared, one by one, all clad in black.
The Crossing was warmer than she expected, despite the lateness of the season, and she relished in the weak sunshine. Having grown up on Salem, her body was unused to Tinuvel's bitter cold, even with her first winter coat having finally grown in. She wished there was something there to go back to, but the Desert belonged to the enemy now and she still did not know her father.
Kohelet had always been vague, describing him without ever giving her anything as concrete as a name or a location. Just that he was kind, and gentle and a good friend to her when she needed it. That his coat was roaned like her own, but dark instead of light, and that he - presumably - did not know about her. She had asked about that, too, but Kohelet was good at deflecting that question, and had pacified Amalia with promises that this was for the better.
Amalia didn't agree.
She wanted to know where she was from, and who her father was, because she was terrified that it might have been someone terrible. Someone like Asmodeus or Nyimara. Someone who hurt horses for enjoyment.
Or someone that didn't care to stop it.
Glowing against the Crossing's autumnal tones, Amalia made her way to the edge of the stream that meandered through the Meadow until she reached a small, still puddle. Her reflection caught her eye, as ruby red as the sun at sunset, flecked with snow, both colors offset by the bone-white of her markings and the dark umber of her eyes. She could see her mother's bones in her face too, the curve of her brow and the same nervous twist to her lips when she was uncertain. But where did the shape of her eyes come from? The sharp cheekbone? The long eyelashes?
Who did those belong to?
Yearling Filly - Red Roan Tobiano - 15.3h WFG - Evrain x Kohelet