She closed her eyes and pretended her daughter was there with her. Almost five years had passed since they curled up here together. Caraleen would sing softly into August’s ear and stroke her daughter’s temple. She would bury her nose into August’s soft blonde hair and inhale the scents that gave her such comfort – sweat, hay, herbal shampoo, and just the faintest hint of pig shit. That was the best part of motherhood – the smell of her child, the gentle touch that seemed almost electric, the love so deep there was no bottom to it. It was what made everything worthwhile – fights, misunderstandings, confusion, anger, the hatred she sometimes believed her own daughter felt for her. It was all fine when they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace, secure in knowing, at least for that brief moment, that they shared comfort, serenity and peace. There came a time when August didn’t need that nighttime ritual Caraleen still longed for.
