Sun Mote Copse As if some magic, like a staff found a burning bush

Auburn watched mother and son in silence, listened as the woman spoke quietly to the boy and sent him on his way. She stared at the boy's retreating form, hunger making it difficult to focus. Her eyes glazed over, until he was nothing but a storm cloud floating away, trailing a streak of red.

'What is your name?'

The woman's soft voice was almost not enough to pull her from her stupor, but something about it called to her as if from a great distance. She imagined some ethereal mother figure, someone much kinder than her own mother had been, and turned her head towards it. She could not read the expression on the woman's face and wasn't sure she wanted to. Auburn, she said, and cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer stuck through with burs, but flowed smooth and quiet as the rolling mists of autumn, though hesitant, soft as a young pup's. Named for my coloring, she said, swishing her tail, glancing down at herself. It was the only thing she liked about herself, her coloration reminding her of leaves falling and piling up along a forest floor.