Life was terribly cruel was it not?
There was no where to go, and so defeated Wichita paid the price of her mistake. What was she to do, the small pintorabian? He had been a tower, a monument compared to her small frame. An attempt to fight back, even if she had made one, would have like done more harm than good. How did you fight a statue? A beast molded of iron, only conveniently having been made into the form of an equine. Convenient for him at least. No, there had been no way around it. She had wandered too far, tested fate far to closely. She had only wanted to better herself, to make a diplomatic visit all her own, to be a useful and productive member of the herd. Instead she had nearly crawled back. Once again, a pitiful, bloodied mess-blood marked backside evidence of the crime.
And she was shamed.
Oh, was she shamed. She had done her best to hide herself from the others, she didn't want to be seen, not like this. She wondered if they had even missed her, if they had noticed she was even gone for those few weeks? Probably not, she berated herself as she sulked, the autumn grasses crunching beneath her. What should have been a happy time, did not start out so. Instead of glowing with the thought of motherhood, she felt covered in a layer of dirt. A used up penny left to adorn a sidewalk, passersby not even bothering to acknowledge it. Her wounds had healed, a few more scars to adorn her silver black frame. No matter, she wasn't trying to impress anyone anyways.
She finally stopped, a bit winded, the child that formed within her had made her ill as of late. Perhaps a drink would make her feel better, and so she dipped her head into the nearest watering hole. A small one, a pond really. Her favorite actually, a few stray wildflowers clung to life on its borders, a frog croaked unseen. She stood for a long while after drinking, staring at her reflection.