She always smelled like frozen flowers.
Hazel thought that every time he came to see her.
Perhaps because she’d seemed so astonishingly beautiful when, as an exhausted foal, he’d finally stumbled to her doorstep. Perhaps it was because he’d been touched by her care, her refusal to reject him, even as he became well aware of the rift between the two types of centaur.
Maybe she’d rather no four-leg ever saw her.
Yet she always prepared dinner and dessert for him, and always waited for his arrival.
She must never know I’m secretly thrilled to have a chance to look after her.
Hazel shook off the thought. Marie’s eyes fluttered open. She reached down to stroke Hazel’s horseback.
His coat was black and glistened like he’d just come in from the rain. Her touch was gentle. His body temperature was higher than hers, and she could feel his warmth through her hand.
“Your coat is so black and glossy. It’s beautiful.”
“The same as your hair, Aunt Marie.” Hazel meant it.
“Oh, that’s not true. Mine’s all…this way and that way. It never lies straight like yours.”
“My tail gets every bit as bad if I don’t comb it.”
Marie chuckled. She must have imagined him trying, and Hazel laughed at the thought.
“I’m jealous of you,” she said.
“Mmm?”
“I may look human, but my legs ache for it. On days when the breeze is gentle, on those rare clear days when I see a beautiful morning mist, I want to run as far as I can. But I’m so weak. Two frail legs won’t take me anywhere.”
That was worse than being cut off from the herd.
Marie’s nails dug into his coat a little, but Hazel did not object. After a few minutes, she smoothed his coat out again, brushing where she’d mussed it.
“Nothing worse than wishing for what you can’t have,” she said ruefully.
Four legs or two, each had what they had. Hazel could not live in these cramped houses, and Marie could not live in the fields with the herd. Were it not for the rift, Marie’s skilled hands could have made her a good doctor. Hazel could have thought of Marie as nothing more than an aunt, as part of his extended family.
“But all I’ve ever known is this Marie, who walks on two legs,” Hazel said.
“Just as I’ve only known you to clop around on four hooves,” Marie whispered softly, closing her eyes. “The beautiful hair on your legs may be the same color as my own, but I envy them.”
Marie said nothing more. She must have fallen asleep again.
When he could tell that she was sound asleep, Hazel got up and put more wood on the fire. Excited for the new fuel, the fire sent up a shower of sparks. The red glow lit and warmed Hazel and Marie. The scent of ash grew stronger.
The night wind brought new snow dancing around the sides of the house.
The water in the pot grew cold, but Hazel did not feel like warming a new batch.
Hazel returned to Marie’s side, resting his torso on her legs. He positioned his rump where she could easily stroke it if she woke again.
The firelight made it hard for Hazel to gauge her complexion. He took off his gloves and lightly touched her cheek, which seemed a little cold.
Her breathing was steady, and the furrow between her brows had relaxed. Hazel almost spoke…but didn’t.
You’re beautiful, two legs and all.
It hurts that our eyes only meet if I bend my knees.
What would she say to him in return?
He swallowed those words, burying them in his heart till death. He adjusted the cushions, propped himself up, and closed his eyes.
When the morning light woke her, Marie could tell the storm inside her had passed.
She searched for her nephew, who’d been lying at her feet when she went to sleep. Other than some cushions on the floor, though, there was no sign of him.
Did he go home?
He was not the sort to just leave without a word. But if he had gone, she must have placed an awful burden on him. Marie’s heart filled with regret.
She’d hoped to keep her frailty hidden from him, but this had been worse than usual. Hazel must have been so shocked. She’d never said a word about her sickness to him before.
The lack of medicine was unfortunate, as well. Perhaps it was far past time to trouble her brother for more. She would normally never consider it. Marie let out a long sigh.
Her brother sent batches of medicine regularly. Not a lot, but that was all the love he could show her. She’d been sent away as a baby, so she didn’t know what her mother, father, or brother looked like. She could never ask for anything from her parents, but her brother had figured out where she was and had found a way to show her some small mercy despite the rift between their kinds.
Sometimes, that filled her with unspeakable rage. But then she’d look at the apple tree he’d sent her, and the churning fog in her heart would subside. There was nothing Marie could do about it.
Looking at her adoring nephew, she felt the same rage sometimes. But when she watched him savor the sweets she’d made, she couldn’t help but laugh, and the storm inside her would die down.
Did he really leave?
“Auntie? Marie? You awake?”
Marie jumped and turned toward the hall. Hazel stood there with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. When he saw Marie was awake, he happily came over and handed the bowl to her.
Inside was porridge made from milk, stock, and bread. Marie thanked him and took it. Her nephew shifted uncomfortably, his hooves clattering on the stone.
“You made this?” she asked.
“I may have knocked into a few things in the process.” He scratched his head guiltily.
Thinking about the state of her kitchen was terrifying, so Marie pushed the thought out of her mind. She focused on eating the porridge her nephew had made for her, despite the fact he knew nothing of cooking.
“The best thing about having two legs is that I can clean every corner of the house,” Marie said pointedly. Hazel cringed, laughing.
“This is a long way to go, but would you deliver it for me?”
As Hazel got ready to leave, Marie handed him an apple pie, all wrapped up. The leftovers from the night before.
“Sure, but to where?”
“You seemed to think it was awfully good. Take it to my brother.” After all, Marie said, she’d made the pie using apples from the tree he’d given her.
Only the faintest whiff of frozen flowers hung around her now.
“I’ll be glad to take it to him.” Hazel gave a mock human salute. He carefully put the pie and Marie’s present in his bag and then taped the lid. She’d never once asked him to deliver anything before. He’d been a courier for a while, but this job felt special.
“How much?” she asked.
“If you prepare another spread like last night the next time I visit, that’s all the payment I need.”
“You realize that’s far more expensive?”
“Fair!” Hazel laughed out loud.
“Do come again, Hazel.” Marie waved him off.
Behind her, an old horseshoe now hung on the mint green door.
“Mmm. I will, Marie.”
With that, Hazel folded his arms and galloped away on his four hooves.
December 26th had no snow or wind. It was just another cloudy English day.
The dried-up winter trees stretched bony branches across the sky. The gray stone walls piled along the road were cold and heavy. Nothing grew in the fields.
But as Hazel headed to the far north end of the land, along narrow country roads, the sights seemed strangely new.
He already knew what he’d give his aunt next time.
✦ ✦ ✦
The End