her; Babi would never hurt her. She came up to her filly, pat te d a rock-hard shoulder, put her arms about a rigid neck, and Patches tossed her head and snorted, beginning to shiver. She was shivering, too, now. This yard was the only safe place in the world, the only place she could keep danger out of, the only place with creatures she trusted and hearts she knew were honest.
She did not want to face her parents right now, she did not want to see uncle Sasha with anger on his face, or meet her lather's look when he had hurt her: she could still feel the strength of his fingers when he had stared right into her eyes, a s if—
As if she had done something horrible and wicked and it would show in her face forever, that she had let her friend kiss her and put his hands on her and make her feel —
So dizzy, so terribly dizzy and cold and warm and magical she wanted to hold on to that feeling. She wanted that moment back, if only to find out what it was. She wished—
—wished he were alive and they could have run away together into the woods so this never would have happened: her mother would not have called his name, her mother would not have said:
Wasn’t I enough ?...
She buried her face against Patches' mane and leaned on her solid shoulder, wanting to stay there against that warmth and not to think, but the thought kept coming back.
Wasn't I enough?
He was the mistake mother made, he was what father was talking about—mother knew him. Mother was in love with him, mother was with him before—
Before she met my father.
Eveshka, he had called her mother, in the tone only her father ever used. Sasha had come to this house with her father, and Sasha had known her friend on sight.
Worse and worse. Oh, god, all she ever wanted was someone to love and take care of the way her mother had someone, and for a handful of moments she had had that someone, until it turned out everyone in the world knew him, and her own mother had been with him when he was alive.
Now she understood her father being angry, and why he had bruised her face—but, but, god, they need not have sent Owl apart from him: that was somehow the worst thing they could do to him.
She did not cry often, but she cried now, mopping tears with Patches' mane, while Patches made those strange soft sounds that meant there was something going on that Patches did not like. Babi was in a shape that seemed all shoulders and teeth, growling, facing the yard or the river where her parents and Sasha were. She was not sure whether they could feel the anger she felt —
But it was over now; they were coming back up from the river. She looked past Patches' jaw and saw them pass the hedge and cross the yard to the walk-up, felt her mother catch sight of her and turn her way with angry intent, but Sasha caught her arm and stopped her. Her father was still carrying the axe when he went behind them up the walk-up, and she had no idea what he was going to do with it inside the house, but Babi went on growling and the horses kept smelling the wind and making nervous sudden shifts.
Looking at the river, she thought. They were definitely looking toward the river, which might mean they had done something down there that t he horses and Babi had somehow fe It, some truly dreadful magic.
She wanted her mother not to be angry at her, she wanted her father not to be, wanted uncle Sasha—
Her uncle's magic spoke to her heart, then, saying, It's not your fault, mouse. Don't wish at your father. Please. He's rea lly upset, but he's all right, if you just don't wish at him r ight now.
She tried, oh, god, she tried not to. She did not blame him f or being mad, she did not blame her mother, not truly, please.
She felt her uncle's presence like a comforting touch on the shoulder, heard her uncle whisper all the way from the house, Your mother loves you. No one's angry now. Your mother's just awfully upset and trying not to be, if you'll just be calm right now, can you do that,
She did not want to face her parents right now, she did not want to see uncle Sasha with anger on his face, or meet her lather's look when he had hurt her: she could still feel the strength of his fingers when he had stared right into her eyes, a s if—
As if she had done something horrible and wicked and it would show in her face forever, that she had let her friend kiss her and put his hands on her and make her feel —
So dizzy, so terribly dizzy and cold and warm and magical she wanted to hold on to that feeling. She wanted that moment back, if only to find out what it was. She wished—
—wished he were alive and they could have run away together into the woods so this never would have happened: her mother would not have called his name, her mother would not have said:
Wasn’t I enough ?...
She buried her face against Patches' mane and leaned on her solid shoulder, wanting to stay there against that warmth and not to think, but the thought kept coming back.
Wasn't I enough?
He was the mistake mother made, he was what father was talking about—mother knew him. Mother was in love with him, mother was with him before—
Before she met my father.
Eveshka, he had called her mother, in the tone only her father ever used. Sasha had come to this house with her father, and Sasha had known her friend on sight.
Worse and worse. Oh, god, all she ever wanted was someone to love and take care of the way her mother had someone, and for a handful of moments she had had that someone, until it turned out everyone in the world knew him, and her own mother had been with him when he was alive.
Now she understood her father being angry, and why he had bruised her face—but, but, god, they need not have sent Owl apart from him: that was somehow the worst thing they could do to him.
She did not cry often, but she cried now, mopping tears with Patches' mane, while Patches made those strange soft sounds that meant there was something going on that Patches did not like. Babi was in a shape that seemed all shoulders and teeth, growling, facing the yard or the river where her parents and Sasha were. She was not sure whether they could feel the anger she felt —
But it was over now; they were coming back up from the river. She looked past Patches' jaw and saw them pass the hedge and cross the yard to the walk-up, felt her mother catch sight of her and turn her way with angry intent, but Sasha caught her arm and stopped her. Her father was still carrying the axe when he went behind them up the walk-up, and she had no idea what he was going to do with it inside the house, but Babi went on growling and the horses kept smelling the wind and making nervous sudden shifts.
Looking at the river, she thought. They were definitely looking toward the river, which might mean they had done something down there that t he horses and Babi had somehow fe It, some truly dreadful magic.
She wanted her mother not to be angry at her, she wanted her father not to be, wanted uncle Sasha—
Her uncle's magic spoke to her heart, then, saying, It's not your fault, mouse. Don't wish at your father. Please. He's rea lly upset, but he's all right, if you just don't wish at him r ight now.
She tried, oh, god, she tried not to. She did not blame him f or being mad, she did not blame her mother, not truly, please.
She felt her uncle's presence like a comforting touch on the shoulder, heard her uncle whisper all the way from the house, Your mother loves you. No one's angry now. Your mother's just awfully upset and trying not to be, if you'll just be calm right now, can you do that,
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