Unbreakable [any]

[Triske]

She trudges onward, not knowing where she is exactly nor how far she'd come from since she'd left her mother. One could argue that Rea had left her, but Triske doesn't see it that way. The mare had called her worthless one too many times. So what if she doesn't have something called 'traits'? Does she need those to live? Is she required to have them to be special or wanted? Was her mother's opinion of her apparently "boring" existence, the only one that matters? Well. There isn't much that the little bay filly, her form petite and quite skinny from her mother's neglect, knows in this world as of yet (she is only about a week or so old), but of one thing she is certain. If her mother hated her so badly, didn't want her so badly, then she doesn't want her either. Hell, she hadn't asked to be conceived. She hadn't asked to be plopped into this strange place. She hadn't asked for any of this. Perhaps, if the little filly had more knowledge and awareness, she would've even told her so. But it doesn't matter anymore. She's alone now, determined to keep moving forward.

Every fiber of her being is protesting.

Her stomach gurgles, feeling as though it's twisting and tying itself into knots. How long since she's eaten? She's lost track. She's tried to pick at the green stuff at her hooves, but failed with no teeth to cut it. It tasted awful anyway, still she tried. She'd found some kind of bittersweet black things on a bush she'd passed, and they seemed okay, but nowhere near enough to sustain her. Oh well, keep going.

Her head feels heavy, her neck tiring from holding it up. Her legs ache and her shoulders and haunches throb from her trek. She is tired, so tired. The sun shines down on her dull, fuzzy coat that does little to hide her ribs poking out, hips jutting lightly. If it weren't for the sun, she'd be cold. Each night seems to feel colder. Doesn't matter, keep going. Where? She doesn't know. But to stop would be to give up. If she lays down, will she be able to stand again? Shouldn't have thought about laying down, now she wants it more. Maybe, just for a little while...

No. Keep going.

Somewhere, someone would see her as worthwhile. She is a fighter, she is strong. She just needs... mother, the hag. She's the one who's worthless. She'll show her. She'll...

The grass is so inviting, the tall blades brushing against her skin, the ground beneath her toes soft. With a quiet whimper, the bay filly clenches her brown eyes shut. If she doesn't see it, it can't beckon her so. Keep going. Not much farther. There has to be light at the end of this tunnel. Just have to-

She stumbles. Over a root, over one of her hooves, it matters not. She simply lacks the energy to catch herself and falls to the earth with a light thud. She lifts her head and opens her eyes, grunting with the effort to get back up, but her body gives out- failing her. Still, she doesn't cry, doesn't scream. Maybe with some sleep, she will manage to get back up. Maybe you are as weak as she said you are. No. She is strong. She is a fighter. She'll show her.

Tremoring, shaking, she makes it to a stand. Wobbly, but standing. She can do this. Someone would find her soon. One step, two. Someone would see her. Right?