as we age, we all become our mothers

prompt: Tomorrow is the birthday of my mother. She hopes to celebrate her 69th birthday. I would like you to write an ode (story or poem) to your mother.
word count: 954

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"Danny?" she called out in a hushed tone as she slowly pushed open the door. She flinched at the small creak the old hinges squeaked out.

She entered the room to find Daniel still in his funeral attire laying face down on his bed, hands at his sides. If she had not worried so about his emotional state, the strange sight might have made her laugh.

She walked over to him cautiously and put what she hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You should not be laying on your stomach like this - your wound has only just began to heal."

Daniel finally acknowledged her, turning his head so that his bright blue eyes bore into her dark ones. He rolled his eyes and let out a hollow chuckle before rolling over onto his back, wincing slightly as he clutched the freshly scabbed wound at his side. Daniel patted the bed where he had just been laying and she laid down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.

She was not quite sure what to do next. His father was a horrible man, one truly deserving of the death he suffered. But despite the fact he had tried to kill his own son, he was still Daniel's father, and she knew his funeral was difficult for him, at the very least confusing. She also knew Daniel was not one to voluntarily reveal his thoughts. So, though it went against every fiber of her being, she remained quiet, letting the silence heal the loss that her words could not. She reached down and took his hand in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Kat?" Katarina turned her head towards him in response to find him staring at her intently.

"What was your mother like?" he asked.

Katarina furrowed her brows at the odd question. She thought hard before speaking, instinctively thumbing the dagger she had long wore holstered around her thigh.

"My mother looked a lot like I do now. She was a warrior and incredibly quick, far faster than me, even, if you can imagine," she said with a chuckle, "She was known as Kasi the Sokol in the village, for when she ran it was as if she were flying."

"What else?" Daniel asked.

Katarina thought some more. "Well, she had a wonderful laugh. She laughed often. My father once told me the first time he heard her laugh he vowed to spend the rest of his life earning that sound. He says I laugh as she did," Katarina lowered her voice, "He says I am very much like her."

"Then I think I would have very much liked her," Daniel responded, nudging her shoulder playfully.

"She was also very stubborn and had quite the temper," Katarina said.

"Well, I think I have gotten used to that."

Katarina nudged his shoulder back. The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Katarina spoke again.

"Tell me about your mother?"

Daniel inhaled sharply.

"You do not have to if you do not want too," Katarina quickly amended.

"No, I do," Daniel answered, "It is just... I have not spoken of her in many years."

Katarina suddenly realized she still held his hand and gave it another squeeze.

"I think you would have liked my mother," Daniel began, "She was also a warrior, though her skills were better served at medicine, so she spent little time on the battlefield. She thought it important that my brother and I learn healing, so she taught us as much as she could. It has already served me well." Daniel smiled as he nodded to Katarina's shoulder. She rubbed it instinctively.

"What did she look like?" Katarina asked, her voice low, enthralled.

"Well, as you might have noticed, I took after my father, so not much like me. She was slim, very tall - at least, she always seemed tall to me, though now I suspect she might not. Her hair was long and golden and straight. It always laid so perfectly down her back. I remember always wanting to pet it, it looked so smooth, like silk," Daniel looked away, dreamily, "She always pulled it back with a ribbon when she was concentrating particularly hard on something, like when she read, or mixed medicines, or sewed," he scrunched his eyebrows together in thought, "She never raised her voice, but you could always tell when she was angry because she would fall completely silent and her eye would twitch. That was a look we never wanted to see growing up," Daniel said with a chuckle.

"Perhaps you are more like your mother than you think," Katarina said with a smile, "That is a look I too have grown to fear in the time I have known you."

"I know she would have liked you," Daniel said, his eyes focused on Katarina, yet also on something else far away, "I think she would have admired you."

"That means a lot to me, Danny."

The two sat in silence again. Finally Daniel spoke.

"Maybe it is being back home finally, being around all these people who knew her? Maybe now that my father is gone? I thought it would get easier, but it has been seven years and I miss her now more than ever."

"I always thought losing someone you love is like losing a hand. You learn to live without it, but you never stop missing it... You never stop wishing it were there."

Daniel raised an eyebrow at her. "Only you would make that comparison, Kat," he deadpanned.

"Well, try to tell me it is not true!"

He chuckled softly after a moment. "Thank you, Kat."

Katarina snorted, "For what? That terrible analogy?"

"For being my other hand."

Dedicated to my mother, my warrior.