05-01-2020, 03:15 PM
He wakes up still damp and so, so cold. And alone. He pans his delicate head around the clearing he finds himself in, searching for the warm body that should be his mother. The trees filter in the weak winter sunlight. It was a good place to have a baby, quiet and peaceful. Not somewhere he wanted to stay by himself.
He tries to stand on weak baby legs before thumping back to the soft, leaf-strewn ground. Thoughts that are more a swirl of images and impressions than anything coherent, convince him that she only stepped away for a minute. Surely a mother wouldn't be gone that long. Not when he was new and fresh to the world. Nobody would really do that right?
Hours pass and he bleats mournfully from time to time, a distant glazed look to his eyes. The fairies had come and dried his baby soft coat and satisfied the most urgent hunger pangs, but that didn't curb the loneliness, the wrongness of him being left behind. What wasn't to like about the colt? His coat was glossy black, his eyes warm and brown. He already had a build that suggested he would grow up strong and noble. He wanted desperately to be a good son, if only someone would give him a chance.
He tries again, and again, to take to his feet, if he could stand, he could walk. If he could walk, he could chase after his mom. Of course! That was it! She was probably waiting for him to come to her right now and he had been sitting around wallowing. How was he going to be a good son if he couldn't even figure that out? The little boy snorts in annoyance at himself and with a furrow of determination he finally stands on shaking legs. A brief whinny of joy at his small triumph is all he lets loose before walking with wobbly purpose to find his mom.
He tries to stand on weak baby legs before thumping back to the soft, leaf-strewn ground. Thoughts that are more a swirl of images and impressions than anything coherent, convince him that she only stepped away for a minute. Surely a mother wouldn't be gone that long. Not when he was new and fresh to the world. Nobody would really do that right?
Hours pass and he bleats mournfully from time to time, a distant glazed look to his eyes. The fairies had come and dried his baby soft coat and satisfied the most urgent hunger pangs, but that didn't curb the loneliness, the wrongness of him being left behind. What wasn't to like about the colt? His coat was glossy black, his eyes warm and brown. He already had a build that suggested he would grow up strong and noble. He wanted desperately to be a good son, if only someone would give him a chance.
He tries again, and again, to take to his feet, if he could stand, he could walk. If he could walk, he could chase after his mom. Of course! That was it! She was probably waiting for him to come to her right now and he had been sitting around wallowing. How was he going to be a good son if he couldn't even figure that out? The little boy snorts in annoyance at himself and with a furrow of determination he finally stands on shaking legs. A brief whinny of joy at his small triumph is all he lets loose before walking with wobbly purpose to find his mom.
Corvidae
I spent all my money on a pack of cigarettes
For a lady that I love with the name I forget