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"What
parts of yourself do you think comes from your mother rather than your
upbringing?"
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"Mother...." Robin crosses her arms and leans back against the
tree trunk. White teeth chew her bottom lip ruminatively as her
brows furrow. "Shouldn't be such an ambiguous word. But it
is. Maybe that's because I had three mothers." "Firstly, there was the poor bitch who squeezed me out between bloody thighs. I never knew her." Robin shakes her head. "But if I had to guess what part of me came from her... Dad described her as 'wild.' And wild is definitely something I do. And something that my upbringing tried its best to rid me of." She chuckles. "Then there was Rattle, the ranger who raised me when I was little." A beautiful fond smile spreads across Robin's face as her eyes drift elsewhere. "Rattle... loved living. Loved life. To her the world was ever wonderfully unfolding." Robin snaps back to reality. "Of course, she *was* a practical old coot. Trained me up right." There's a fond familiarity about the way Robin says that. "But from her I think I gained that life was more than a series of problems to be solved, challenges to be faced, etc. etc. That there was joy and beauty in the world." The girl smiles again. "She's dead now." Smile gone. "And lastly... I don't know. I've come to feeling that Arden herself was a mother to me. My upbringing may have taught me how to follow a trail, how to smoke an elk, how to shoot into a gale. But... *Arden!* The *life* of her, the *Green.* Mighty, interwoven, *alive.* I simply do not have the *words,* Ossian." Her green eyes look over to the artist, burning with exultation. "So... three mothers. And from them I gain wildness, love and life. Not too shabby." A half-smile cocks her lips. "Even *with* the penchant for disaster." |
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