Post by corpserotten on Aug 27, 2007 19:14:48 GMT -5
-Late Fall-
The lush fields would be suitable, if fewer horses needed to graze. The forest seemed nice, too, if fewer wolves needed to eat. Honestly, the island, whatever it's name was, seemed like the best home. If it didn't have a herd. Hurt often wondered if he could chase away the lead. It was doubtful. That poor little spiggot of dust out in the ocean had enough of a history to know how to hold its own. Plus, he didn't want a herd. He wanted the space. It would be a pain in the ass to get back to the main land, but how often would he need to? If it flooded, sure. How odten did that happen? Rarely enough for it to still be considered, mad as it sounded. You can't just chase out an entired herd of horses. Well, you don't know Hurt.
He stood atop a hill, in a good enough mood to avoid a ditch. Usually he'd settle in in a nice, low valley in attempts to keep away from the other horses. But today, it was a nice day, he didn't mind watching. Horse watching, was his favorite hobby. They were so.... weird. Crazy was a bit of a compliment for such idiocracies they performed. Crazy people at least had an excuse, and were good in person. Regular horses, they were boring. They stood and chatted about shit no one really cares about. Anyone who cared about that couldn't have brain function above a rotting strawberry. So Hurt just watched. There was no interaction, no "Oh shit, this thing is talking to me." There was no reason to insult, belittle or offend, although on some days, on good days, Hurt found that to be rather disappointing. Somedays, it was just /torture/ to have that perfect remark, but the horse too far away for it to be worth bellowing out.
Today, was a good day. The air was cold, and the trees bare. Hurt loved the fall and early winter. Hell, even mid and late winter. The way it looked, the cold. So long as he could find shelter for a blizzard. That was the rough spot. It seemed, no life was perfect. Hurt's was far from it, despite his denial. Well, he knew it wasn't perfect. He just pretended it was perfect for him. After all, if you lower your expections of perfections to near perfection, you can have a perfect life. That's what he said at least.
Hurt lay on the top of a low hill, the highest one around, and watched a small gang of horses. They were all scraggly, like all wilds, but they wre pretty as far as a wild horse goes. The stallion especially. The other four were mares, and there was a small foal. It looked sickly, as did one of the mares. Another didn't look that well off, but who knew. A tick maybe, or worms. Not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. The stallion kept scratching at an infected flea bite. Hurt was only close enough to hear parts of their conversation, and he wished he couldn't hear any of it. Just chatting. The were a small family, just a roaming gang of horses. One of the mares was new, and the stallion was pushing her to join them. It seemed she was nervouse. Ah, she lost a foal recently. That's it. The stallion and mother needed her to help nurse the foal. Maybe that mare was sicker than he thought. Probably not deathly, but the foal needed better milk, the mare's wasn't good enough to strengthen him. Hurt figured the foal would die either way. Let the kid rot sooner than later. It wasn't that Hurt wanted to see the kid dead, he just rather not see it suffer. Those poor horses that would think a bit more hope and better milk would change a blatant fact. That foal, will die. Be it this winter during a blizzard, or in two years when he's took weak to outrun a wolf.
The lush fields would be suitable, if fewer horses needed to graze. The forest seemed nice, too, if fewer wolves needed to eat. Honestly, the island, whatever it's name was, seemed like the best home. If it didn't have a herd. Hurt often wondered if he could chase away the lead. It was doubtful. That poor little spiggot of dust out in the ocean had enough of a history to know how to hold its own. Plus, he didn't want a herd. He wanted the space. It would be a pain in the ass to get back to the main land, but how often would he need to? If it flooded, sure. How odten did that happen? Rarely enough for it to still be considered, mad as it sounded. You can't just chase out an entired herd of horses. Well, you don't know Hurt.
He stood atop a hill, in a good enough mood to avoid a ditch. Usually he'd settle in in a nice, low valley in attempts to keep away from the other horses. But today, it was a nice day, he didn't mind watching. Horse watching, was his favorite hobby. They were so.... weird. Crazy was a bit of a compliment for such idiocracies they performed. Crazy people at least had an excuse, and were good in person. Regular horses, they were boring. They stood and chatted about shit no one really cares about. Anyone who cared about that couldn't have brain function above a rotting strawberry. So Hurt just watched. There was no interaction, no "Oh shit, this thing is talking to me." There was no reason to insult, belittle or offend, although on some days, on good days, Hurt found that to be rather disappointing. Somedays, it was just /torture/ to have that perfect remark, but the horse too far away for it to be worth bellowing out.
Today, was a good day. The air was cold, and the trees bare. Hurt loved the fall and early winter. Hell, even mid and late winter. The way it looked, the cold. So long as he could find shelter for a blizzard. That was the rough spot. It seemed, no life was perfect. Hurt's was far from it, despite his denial. Well, he knew it wasn't perfect. He just pretended it was perfect for him. After all, if you lower your expections of perfections to near perfection, you can have a perfect life. That's what he said at least.
Hurt lay on the top of a low hill, the highest one around, and watched a small gang of horses. They were all scraggly, like all wilds, but they wre pretty as far as a wild horse goes. The stallion especially. The other four were mares, and there was a small foal. It looked sickly, as did one of the mares. Another didn't look that well off, but who knew. A tick maybe, or worms. Not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. The stallion kept scratching at an infected flea bite. Hurt was only close enough to hear parts of their conversation, and he wished he couldn't hear any of it. Just chatting. The were a small family, just a roaming gang of horses. One of the mares was new, and the stallion was pushing her to join them. It seemed she was nervouse. Ah, she lost a foal recently. That's it. The stallion and mother needed her to help nurse the foal. Maybe that mare was sicker than he thought. Probably not deathly, but the foal needed better milk, the mare's wasn't good enough to strengthen him. Hurt figured the foal would die either way. Let the kid rot sooner than later. It wasn't that Hurt wanted to see the kid dead, he just rather not see it suffer. Those poor horses that would think a bit more hope and better milk would change a blatant fact. That foal, will die. Be it this winter during a blizzard, or in two years when he's took weak to outrun a wolf.
