Meadow

”Son of Nahawi.”

Stilling at those words, the red dun carbon copy of his sire looks at the woman before him. His long tail flicks at his hocks as unease slowly curls in his gut. He had never met someone other than Rehoboam that knew his father. His mother and father were both gone, but he never once got the chance to look at his father. Now though, when he stared at the waters he scarcely found in Salem, he wondered if he looked like his dad. It was now though, hearing this older woman say it, that he realized he did look like his father, if not in a really startling way with the fully matching white of his face, legs, and much more even internally.

“I…” Choked up, Alo lowers his head and closes his eyes. “You knew my dad?” His voice cracks, turning into a broken whisper as he winces. He never would have dreamed of this day, let alone thought it could ever really happen. He wanted to learn of his father from more than just Rehoboam. He wanted to understand what his father had been like. No stories had made it to his ears, nor had there been any sign of anyone he was related to. He knew there had to be others out there that shared his sire, but where were they?

Forcing the thoughts from his mind, Alo lifted his head slowly and looked finally at the Arabian built mare before him. “My… My name is Alo.” He knew the meaning of it, but not the ties it already had to his parents. He was a spirit guide, at least by name. He wondered, with his every step through life, if he guided his parents easily while still just a blurred eyed newborn. He wondered if he could lead Rehoboam in the future to a peaceful afterlife. It was a circulating question he blocked off most of the time, but times like right now brought it out and set it heavy in his mind.

“May I know your name?” He murmurs, curious. If he could put a name to her, maybe she would be a memory in the future when he probably would wish he had talked to her longer. Alo was a soft soul, even softer than his father. Where Nahawi had led the Lagoon and done misdeeds, Alo probably never would. He would grow to be a fighter, but nothing like his scar clad sire had been. Alo had been raised well by Rehoboam, but he was lacking the feminine touch that would seal the fate of a tender hearted soul that worked to right the wrongs within his ability. He did not have a hero complex, but a rough understanding of where he would have to go in order to face the demons his father never got the chance to warn him about.