From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Kronk didn’t feel particularly useful. He did, however, feel rather fat. The white and chestnut stallion looked back at his belly with dismay. He didn’t just feel fat, he was fat. It was shameful. Never before had he allowed himself such indulgence.
Except, well, the Gates was so peaceful and the grass was so good. Just as Wichita had promised him, there was lots and lots of clover.
And now, all that clover had gone right to his midsection. He sighed, and Kronk resentfully swallowed his last mouthful of what could only be described as his third breakfast before lunch. He needed to do something, anything, before lethargy and apathy won their war against determination and fitness.
Kronk walked a little faster than his normal wander. He was so focused on finding useful employment that he almost didn’t notice the little buckskin boy. He would have walked right past, but his eye caught at the last minute. The large stallion smiled fondly. He remembered being that age. A little hesitantly, for Kronk didn’t have much experience with children, he approached.
“That clover is good, huh?” If Kronk had it in him to scowl, he may have been a little dismayed that he left eating only to discuss eating. It went a long way towards demonstrating how far he had fallen.
“I’m Kronk. I’m new, but I’ve already eaten my fair share of clover.” Now Kronk’s nose did wrinkle slightly. When had he developed a one track mind?
Delicious little devils, those clovers.
Photograph by Vivacqua