They were compliments. A well-cared for horse, a happy child. She supposed they might be the nicest things he could thing to say to her, given the current circumstances. The bow surprised her, yet she inclined her head, in lieu of standing in order to curtsey and then sit again. The straw pricked against her back and Vara snuffled the bale, nose to the strands as she explored the new scents. Ember seemed to be asleep, a bag leg lifted and resting on the hoof.
I want for your family to work. Bold words and sincerely meant. The lump in her chest expanded and she remained silent. Wondering if he knew that she would include him in her family. He was Malcolm’s son. No, she would never be a Mother or parental figure to him, but this was not a normal family. His Father was over four hundred arcs old and had all the appearance of a man in his late thirties; he laughed like a little boy at times, and grinned like a youth. He was ancient, but he wasn’t old.
He was polite, and she remained on her seat, watching him. He was shutting her out and still, she couldn’t blame him for that either. Who was she to him? The woman who had ruined his life. Had destroyed his Mother in her dying seasons. A usurper to his Father’s affections. Malcolm would be happier if Vaughn was happy. Theirs was a fragile family, and she wasn’t sure that the delicate balance was a secret to anyone who looked in. They balanced on the edge of a knife. Her and Malcolm, each questioning the other, but both working so hard to seize each trial and make it work. For Elsie’s sake, for their unborn babies sake.
“Vaughn,” she called after him, “if there is anything I can do…” She didn’t know if he heard her.
I want for your family to work. Bold words and sincerely meant. The lump in her chest expanded and she remained silent. Wondering if he knew that she would include him in her family. He was Malcolm’s son. No, she would never be a Mother or parental figure to him, but this was not a normal family. His Father was over four hundred arcs old and had all the appearance of a man in his late thirties; he laughed like a little boy at times, and grinned like a youth. He was ancient, but he wasn’t old.
He was polite, and she remained on her seat, watching him. He was shutting her out and still, she couldn’t blame him for that either. Who was she to him? The woman who had ruined his life. Had destroyed his Mother in her dying seasons. A usurper to his Father’s affections. Malcolm would be happier if Vaughn was happy. Theirs was a fragile family, and she wasn’t sure that the delicate balance was a secret to anyone who looked in. They balanced on the edge of a knife. Her and Malcolm, each questioning the other, but both working so hard to seize each trial and make it work. For Elsie’s sake, for their unborn babies sake.
“Vaughn,” she called after him, “if there is anything I can do…” She didn’t know if he heard her.
