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// Ch 1: A Mother's Love 
// Story: Half Breed 
// by ChaosDragon 
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As I lay upon the soft green grasses of spring, staring up at the azure sky as warmth spread over my body, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. The workings of the mind were just so ridiculously random at times that I couldn't help but find it funny. Of all the thoughts running through my head, the foremost in my mind at that moment, was wondering if I had ever seen the sky so clear before, or such a brilliant shade of blue; if the clouds had ever looked so fluffy and soft before, so inviting, gentle. It was all so ridiculous given the circumstances of the moment, that I almost felt silly. Fortunately, my heavenly contemplations were soon swept away, replaced by the myriad of other thoughts they had initially pushed their way through. Most of them were thoughts of my past. Thoughts of people known, things done, and places been, all long ago and far away now. Perhaps I should have been thinking of the present and its realities, rather than drifting through thoughts of days gone by, but I suppose a warm and gentle spring day is as fine a time as any to reminisce. It’s not as if I was going anywhere soon, or indeed, even had anywhere to go anymore, and it could do little harm. So I let my mind wander through the avenues of my memory as it willed, content to go along for the journey.

My first clear memory was of the delicate features of a mare’s face looking down at me. Her coat was a vivid green, the color of fresh spring grass, and she had a warm and gentle smile set upon full lips, with the most beautiful, deep blue eyes you have ever seen, as if crafted from flawless sapphires. Her left eye was half hidden behind her long silvery mane as it hung down over her face to tickle the tip of my nose. She looked at me with such soft and gentle eyes, the caring eyes of someone who loves you deeply, who would do anything for you. Those eyes always made me feel safe, they made me feel loved. The ceiling lights shone down on her from above, spilling out around her head, as if she was an angel come down from on high to grace the world with her presence. And to me, she was an angel, my protector, the person who loved me above all others, my mother.

I remember reaching up to grab her hair, though I’m not sure why. I think I liked the way it shone and shimmered in the light, like a silvery waterfall cascading over the moss of her coat. She just smiled and took my hand in her hoof, then leaned in and kissed my forehead. Looking back, I sometimes wish I could have stayed there, living in that moment of innocence and love, undisturbed by the reality of the world around me, back before the veil was torn from my eyes and I saw the world the way it truly was. But then again, perhaps it was all for the best that time inevitably moved onward, leaving me with only that little memory, making it all the more precious. Besides, I don’t know if I could truly trade all my future memories for that one moment, even if it could last forever. Not now anyway, not after everything I've been through.

My mother’s name was Forest Scroll, a typical unicorn really, with nothing particularly remarkable about her in any measurable sense besides her beauty, and even that could be easily overlooked if you weren't paying attention, as it was a subtle beauty. One would think her hair was grey if they only gave her a glance, and her delicate features and lovely eyes would go unnoticed as well, hidden behind the veil of her hair and a book half the time. Even her cutie mark was just a stack of three plain, blank scrolls with a blue quill and inkwell beside them, with the quill being half hidden by the inkwell, as if it knew it was the only source of real color in the image and was trying to hide so as not to draw attention. Her job was equally as subtle as her looks. She was a simple researcher, not the kind you hear about mind you, making new discoveries deep in the wilderness, or big breakthroughs in the latest fields, or even one of those insufferable ponies who do studies on the most ridiculous and obvious things, then acts like it’s a huge discovery that will actually contribute to the world, waving around their new fancy study that ‘definitively proves’ something everyone knew already just to get attention, like fire is hot. No, she was definitely not one of them. She was just one of those ponies who were naturally curious, loving to learn new things and find an answer to every random question that popped into their minds, one of those ponies mentioned briefly on the last pages of research papers and books, the ones you never think about as you flip through that encyclopedia that hands out the knowledge about the world they worked so hard to acquire. She was the quintessential background pony, and she was perfectly happy with that. I truly admired her for that humility, and I always tried my best to be like her. I guess I really have her to thank for my natural curiosity... and my intelligence... and my smile... I smiled a lot in those early days, just like her, sometimes for no reason other than the act itself... now that I look back on it, I realize I owe her so much more than I ever could have imagined...

Even more so because she was the only real influence in my life. Because as much as I would have liked to, I never knew my father then. Heck, I never even saw a picture of him. But my mother always talked of him favorably, so I guess she didn't resent him or anything. She told me that he was very kind and gentle, and she would go on and on about how knowledgeable he was, and the way he would treat everyone as if they were a friend, how full of laughter he was, and how deeply they loved each other. From the way she talked about him, I always assumed he had died, because it just didn't make any sense that the kind of person she described would just leave his family... right? But my mother never talked about his absence back then, not about him leaving, or his death, if that was what happened. She always seemed to turn the conversation to a new topic whenever we got onto it, and the funny thing was, I always let her. I guess somewhere deep down I always thought it would be more painful to know the truth, or maybe I just didn't want to know the truth. It’s possible I just didn't want to know about him, or maybe it just never occurred to me that I might ever want too. Perhaps I just wanted to keep my fantasies about him intact, untainted by the ‘burden of knowledge’ as my mother would say, and simply focus on what was, instead of what had been.

I was born in a place called Ponyville, on the 6th day of ‘Spring Eve’ by the reckoning of the New Celestial calendar if it matters. My mother was just a single mare raising a child all by herself, no husband, no family nearby, just me and her, but that was all we needed. We lived in a fairly modest house, it wasn't so big that it felt like no one was around, but not small enough that you got the feeling it was cramped. The word ‘comfortable’ comes to mind to describe it, now that I actually give it some thought, because the house always had this warm, inviting glow and an ever present smell of something unidentifiable, yet wonderful, baking in the oven, even though there wasn't. It would have been perfect for a family of three or four, but for the two of us, it was just as perfect because ‘we have enough love for three’ as my mother always told me. I always wanted to believe she meant that, but somehow I just always knew she had bought the place with the intention that we /would/ be a family of three. 

I don’t remember much of the first few years, but I mean, who really does, other than vague impressions and blurs, but my mother would tell me about them on occasion. She said that the day she brought me home from the hospital was the happiest day of her life, but what mother doesn't say that, it’s like a requirement for all mothers. She told me she was so happy, that she named me Jikael Regipre, which means ‘wonderful gift’ in the tongue of my father. Thank you so /very/ much dad. But luckily she usually just called me Jake for short, unless of course she got mad at me, in which case she called me Jikael as she yelled, and there were plenty of those times as well, but I like to think the good outweighed the bad in the end.

Her eyes would light up with equal parts amusement and annoyance when she would recount the first day I figured out I could fly with those little wings on my back. Apparently I caused a bit of a mess around the house, zipping around all over the place with no control whatsoever and crashing into just about everything. She always said it was so bad that she started calling me a flying pinball. When she finally caught me she was more worried about me having hurt myself than the mess, but apparently I just stared up at her with a giant smile on my face and giggled as a bit of plaster dust ran off my head. She got the same look in her eye when she told me about when I started teething, I guess it was one of those things where it was so bad that, looking back on it, it’s just funny, because she would always laugh when she told me about it. She said that between me teething and my newfound ability to fly, that there was pretty much /nothing/ that didn’t have teeth marks and drool all over it. I never believed her of course until one day I voiced that disbelief. She looked at me with this expression that said ‘oh you poor naive little boy’ then she got up and pointed out the tooth marks on the chandelier attached to the ceiling. After that point I pretty much started taking her at her word for everything that happened before I could remember.

I do remember being happy though, in those first years of childish ignorance, where you ask silly and random questions for no reason, go out and play in the dirt just because you can, take a nap in the middle of the day, and wear your food because it’s more fun than eating it. It was a happy, blissful existence, if a short one. My mother and I stayed inside or in the backyard a lot in those days. I never had a babysitter either, she was always there with me, never even left to go shopping, she just always had things delivered, and I didn’t question it, it never even occurred to me to ask her why or to find it odd. I guess I just assumed it was because of her job. She read a lot and I guess back then I thought it was her job because of the scrolls on her cutie mark, stupid I know, but give me a break, I was two.  It was simpler back then though, no responsibilities, no obligations, nothing to do but just enjoy being a child... but childhood can’t last forever...