.Little. [Hurt]

[corpserotten]

-Late Summer-

The vast expanse was hardly endless. It rode on, over small, rocky hills, dusts of trees and brush proving to all that yes, this land was still alive. The dark grass grew tall and too-wet around the white-ish rocks, looking almost black under the late evening's light. The sun was gone, taking with it all the golden light that bloomed in the day, then wilted and turned grey with night. In the distance was a sudden wall of pine, black and unwavering with silent strength. Dense fog crept between their thick feet, vanishing into the darkness behind, and emerging into the faint glow of the open lands. It washed over the low rocks, and parted around the larger and the trees. Like a snake, it slid faster and faster over the sickly grass, licking the dainty limbs that stood with great defiance for something so little.

The grasses brushed just around his sharp hooves, hiding the stripped blades that came to sight each time he stepped. Black and white mottled hide stretched over his boney frame, exposing ribs, spines and hip bones. A small tuft of two-toned fuzz flit back and forth behind his rump. The small colt moved slowly towards the trees, his black and white face bobbing with each step. It was an ugly animal, too small and boney, with a flat, dirty coat. His eyes didn't match, and his mane was short and thin.

The colt stopped before a large, flat rock and looked over it, then pushed off onto his hind legs, his chest rising and pushing back. He slowly propelled up until his flints tapped lightly over the sandstone rock. He scrabbled his way up and stood over it, studying the lands. He turned his head over his back, then forward to look back at the trees. By now night had fully fallen and the colt remained as nothing more than floating white flesh.

Several weeks had passed before the foal's mother was killed. It had been at the fields, at night. The pair had been leaving their old herd that had taken a strong dislike to the odd pair. It was a small, tight-knit group that took in the pregnant mare. Knowing the herd would dislike that the foal she carried was forced, told them her mate had been killed when he fell in a canyon and broke his neck. When the foal arrived, he was greeted as any other. He would play with the others, but because he was so ill was left behind and stuck beside his mother much more. Soon the herd was suspicious about the foal. He was so unlike his mother, who was a rather pretty thing, and healthy for a wild mare. Why the foal should be so ill would only mean his father was as well. When they learned that the child was forced, they turned against the pair and chased them out. For almost a week the pair wandered alone, caring for each other and taking shelter with a herd for two nights before leaving again. Upon reaching the fields, a large chestnut stallion greeted them. It was the Lord from their first herd. Deeply offended by her deceit, he mounted, then killed her.

The colt, whom was named Romance Dysfunctional, named from his entrance into the world, survived with several bruises along his neck and a sprained leg. While running away he gashed his hip and still had an awkward patch of hair.

Mance, as he was called, kneeled down on the rough rock, then dropped his bottom and curled up, still studying his landscape wearily. Once he was sure no predators lurked in the trees, he dropped his head by his belly and closed his eyes to sleep.


(Note horse in image is adult of foal in story.)

[Kindred Blue]

DOES IT HURT?
to know i'll
never be there

Time. It seemed almost.. dangerous. If it should spot a blink of eye, it would fall upon the proecutor and turn the hands around the dial a thousand times: and when those eyes opened again, after such a sweet, brief sleep, the world would have changed. Loved ones would have faded in the mist without even a whispered goodbye, and there would be nothing to be done about the terrible situation.

Nothing.

Bryony had thought that she had stopped feeling, but there it was: the deep pang of nothing, reminding her of what she actually had left to live for. Nothing. She had hardly begun to live before her world had been taken away from her, and even though she could no longer feel the burning in her neck, there was a lock of her mane missing. It appeared that it had not quite had the heart to grow back.

Furthermore, Bryony didn't even know how old she was anymore. She couldn't compare herself with other foals, or adults, because there was a distinct lack of company. She had watched the seasons change and twist, but she had daydreamed too much and worried too little, and her very own blink of the eye had left her without a sense of time. She knew that she was large, but she had learnt along the way, despite the lonliness: she knew that there were many types of horse, some larger than the other.

So, when it boiled down to it, she had two ideas to choose from: she was either a large foal, or a small adult.

Without really noticing, Bryony had reached the edge of the trees: or at least, it seemed to be the edge, even though the trees did not stop in a perfectly line and therefore it must be only near the edge and not quite it. Her eyes narrowed, and she scanned the horizon with a new, practised skill - one could tell that she had done it many times before, each time returning her gaze the ground sullenly with an exhale (the exhausted version of a sigh).

But this time, something was different. There was a figure there, on a rock: small, she had to admit, which could possibly settle her little troubles about how old she was, and if she was big or small. The figure was oddly coloured, and for a moment her eyes opened wider than she thought possible, before closing suddenly as if scared her eyeballs might fall out. She gave an exhale, but it was not of exhaustion, nor desperation.

There was excitement there.

She had been seperated from contact for so long that she was growing very antisocial and moody: but the idea of company still intruiged her, and so she came bounding out of the forest at a gallop, unaware that she was a young adult shire horse who probably looked like a dangerous attacker. There was a gleam in her eye, one of interest, but it could be easily mistaken with anger.

[/blockquote]

[corpserotten]

Cool fingers brushed over the tiny foal as sleep began to creep through the crevases of his mind. The stone was rough against his hide, and left him exposed to the breeze, broken into fragments by the nearby trees. It was safe from predators at least, even if it only prolonged the hunt. Upon the final whisper of sleep, a ear rose. Then the other. Then his head. Small nares opened wide to the oncoming scent. Even as a child he knew it was a she, but that was all. A she-horse, moving closer.

Each little hoof jumped up, landing upon the stone with a definate set of clips. They stood apart silghtly, neck out and ears flat. Eyes rolled wildly, searching out of the carcass until he spotted her, dead ahead. Lips rolled back, small tail arched up. Threat or not, the tiny child remained defensive, pawing with angst.

Mance had learned not to trust another. Ever. It only meant hurt, and without his mother it meant death. Kind hearted or not, exposing anything meant risk. For several days after his mother's death he met another small foal. She had followed him endlessly, determined that if they stuck together they could be safer. Finally he got to her. After repeatedly telling her no mare would ever want to adopt a foal, let alone two, he killed her.

Now, as he watched the mare approach, he could only see that filly. She was a chestnut, with a white blaze and one sock. How easy it was to kill her. She'd trusted him for no reason other than a similarity in situations. Even after endless debates, endless torents of insults and crushing dreams, she followed him. He lead her through paths sane horse's wouldn't take. He lead her through wolves lands, and still, she followed. Endless trust in a stranger. The poor filly didn't know how far she'd raised her head back when his hoof finally struck her spine.

[ponymad]

Neverending Tsunami &&

W a t c h O u t I t s A b o u t &&

I had a sudden flashback of that day. That day when Angel came along. When that Angel made his world crash down around him. But then that was when I met and made long lasting friends. Or I hoped that they would last long. Even though I hadn't seen them in months. My angry mind came back to reality as I thought of my mother. &&

Tough shit if she wanted to change my name. When I was young I went along with it, for I had no reason to want to change it back. But when she gave herself to the sea, that made me angry. For why would anyone want to give there life away in vain. Even if they were mute. I stode along, when I suddenly realised why I was getting so many memories. One, because I was in the Graveyards. And two, because one of the other foals where close. I could just feel it. &&

I turned the corner, and true enough there she was. The one that had always stood alone. Sister to the happy one. But her name, name I could not remember. My muzzle opened soon enough but no words poured out, for I had realised there was another in my presense. One that I had not met before. One that looked young and quite ill. &&

I closed my lips, deciding to myself that I would not be the first to speak. I was rising 3, after I had a long winded talk to my Uncle Spirit, I had decided to come here to visit my Grandma Summers Sunset. I flicked my blackened banner around my bright bay hide. Not moving my black stilts either. &&

OCC::: Sorry that was crap. o.O