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[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; borderwidth= 0px;overflow: auto; width: 375px; height: 261px;font-family: new times roman;text-align: center;color: #ccbb99;] [size=36pt]beginning.[/size] [hr][justify] it is a summer of no-rain. no one knows why there has been a lack of rain or water, but streams are running dry, rivers turning into empty gashes in the earth, and grass shriveling up and turning too brittle to eat. herds are beginning to get smaller, horses are dying from dehydration and hunger, and wars are being fought over the mares who are strong enough to persevere. but no one knows why this summer is so dry and lacking - all they can hope and pray is that water will return to the lands. ❥ rules. one) you are allowed to comment on this thread. two) any comments - good or bad - will be accepted on this thread. three) following above rule, any comments with swearing/vulgar words will be deleted. four) i am happy to explain anything that did not come across explained in the story. five) if you have any questions, feel free to pm me or ask on the thread. ❥ characters. |
| [fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; borderwidth= 0px;overflow: auto; height: 261px;font-family: new times roman;text-align: center;color: #ccbb99;] [size=36pt]middle.[/size] [hr][justify] [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#000; background:url(https://31.media.tumblr.com/08…vh3oaDnU1s0zjalo1_500.jpg); width: 400px; height: 260px; bordercolor=#FFFFFF; borderwidth=1px; ][align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#FFFFFF; opacity: 0.75; bordercolor=#FFFFFF; borderwidth=1px; width: 330px; overflow: auto; height: 180px; text-align: center; font: 10px georgia; color: #000000; padding: 6px; margin-bottom: 15px; ] [align=center]CHAPTER ONE The grass under my hooves breaks as I move away from under a tree that has offered me a bit of shelter from the sunlight with its remaining leaves. I know that soon those leaves will break off though, dead from lack of water just like everything else, and soon the tree will be just as empty and barren as it is in the winter. The sun burns against my back as I move toward my mother, her dainty body unfamiliar with such heat. She used to be a hooman’s horse (that is what she has called them in her stories) and they had treated her with the upmost care. She never had to endure long winters full of shivering and wishing for summer and then summers full of heat and wishing for winter. Now, she does—I’ve never heard the story of why she chose this life and I suppose I never will—but whenever I see her, bleary-eyed and looking more miserable than the rest of us, my heart gives a pitied sigh. I know I shouldn’t feel pity for her (the rules of survival include only looking out for you) but I cannot so easily ditch the love and care of a family as quickly as others. My mother is with-child now, her barrel heavy and swollen. My sibling lies within, most likely undernourished and sick just like all the other foals of the herd are. We are all weak and skinny, with bones sticking out at odd places and a gaunt look in our faces. Only the strongest or the highest in the pecking order have survived this far and we are only a full moon-cycle into summer. Thankfully, my mother is near the top of the pecking order due to my own position. I have fought for her to stay close to me, making sure she can eat and drink (when we do end up finding little puddles or undiscovered, shriveling ponds) at the same time I do. I am sure this is the only reason she is still alive. Sliding under the tree next to my mother, I nudge her cheek with my muzzle. She barely moves when I touch her. The only indication she gives to my movement is leaning into me further, her bony shoulder pressing just behind my elbow. We are roughly the same size in height, though I have adopted my father’s hardy and muscular build compared to my mother’s light and dainty one. Since I am three years old, I still have just a couple inches of growing to do and then I will be at my full size, which places me a bit taller than my mother. This is obvious now in the way I stand next to her, white swollen sides pressing against skinny sides. “Mother,” I whisper to her, hoping she can hear me past her dehydrated dream. “Mother, we must find water for you.” She gives a muttering sound low in her throat that I cannot understand, but the sound alone is dry and painful to hear. This gives me no further information, but I swivel away from her and head toward the lead mare of the herd. If a fight were decided between my mother and Loon, the lead mare, there is no doubt who would win. Sturdy and large, Loon is almost taller than my father. She is a dark inky color, with a forelock that shields her eyes from many and gives her the undeniable illusion of mystery. She’s threatening and impressive, and it is no wonder she is the lead of the herd. As soon as I am within hearing distance, my dry throat opens. “Loon, we need to find water.” I try not to let a commanding tone play in my voice, but it still comes forth. My father is a proud and good lead stallion and that shows in my own attitude (though perhaps I am a bit more brash and stubborn). The dark mare pays no mind to me, though I did see her ear twitch at my word, and continues to groom my father’s withers until I am within touching distance. Quick as a flash, her teeth snake toward me and my head jerks up in an attempt to protect my eyes, face, and ears. Her mouth places a stinging blow on the side of my neck and her voice slides into my ears, cold and stern. “Do not command me, child.” I can feel her eyes on me, but there is no way to be certain with the curtain of a forelock hiding the majority of her face. My head lowers to a more submissive position. “My mother, Whisper, is too dehydrated to even talk to me. I am sure she is not the only one.” I am respectful, now, having learned my place (though my stomach rolls with anger and my mind burns with frustration). Loon turns away from me, resuming her latter position. She doesn’t say anything more, but I can understand her as clearly as if she had spoken. She doesn’t care about my mother. She doesn’t want to move the herd yet. We aren’t going to get water right now. So, having no other choice, I turn and head back to my mother, tossing a searing glare over my shoulder at my father (who had done nothing) and Loon (who was too lazy to bother with the helpless). [align=center][color=black][font=georgia][size=6pt][abbr=if you see me taken from my rightful owner, notify the creator!]fancypost © tipsytopsy[/abbr] [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#000; background:url(https://31.media.tumblr.com/08…vh3oaDnU1s0zjalo1_500.jpg); width: 400px; height: 260px; bordercolor=#FFFFFF; borderwidth=1px; ][align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#FFFFFF; opacity: 0.75; bordercolor=#FFFFFF; borderwidth=1px; width: 330px; overflow: auto; height: 180px; text-align: center; font: 10px georgia; color: #000000; padding: 6px; margin-bottom: 15px; ] [align=center][font=Georgia][color=black]CHAPTER TWO In the dark, I can’t see her sides rippling but I can hear her groaning. I don’t leave from my place, however. We have all been taught from a young age to leave a mare in labor alone and let her take care of her own duties. It was a mare’s duty in a herd to give birth to future offspring and make sure to stay alive. The mares that gave birth to the strongest of foals were always deemed honorable and fawned over, but they were also the mares that were constantly pregnant. I pity them silently, but I never say it aloud. I don’t know whether this foal would be as strong as me, but I pray that my mother will survive the birthing. All through the night I wait with an anxious heart and tense muscles. When dawn comes, I finally move away from the group and head toward where my mother had disappeared to. My mind is alert and my ears are pricked, but there are no sounds of labor or even the suckling of a child. My nerves heighten as I step closer into the brush and when I finally come to where my mother is my shock sends a low grunt of distress. My mother did give birth to a foal, that much is obvious, but she never got the chance to suckle it. She hasn’t risen from her place where she lay to give birth and her sides are not moving. She is dead. My heart wrenches itself apart and I give a loud neigh of grief. She can’t die—she can’t. She is too sweet, too innocent and loving and motherly. My father can hardly be called my father for all he has done for me and I only have one friend in the herd. My grief claws up my throat and I try to shove it down, to stuff away my emotions before the get the better of me. There is still the foal, which has made it safely out of birthing before my mother died. The foal is my only full sibling. I drop my head closer to the child and, not knowing what else to do, nudge it gently. It is a girl, by the scent, and the small movement of her side proves she is alive. She is tiny, that much is true, with a sickly-looking body and gangly legs. But when her eyes open, my heart melts. She soothes a bit of the grief that clings to my heart like sticky honey and I press my cheek to her side, listening to her breathing and her pulse and how alive she is. She is so different from her mother in so many ways, but also alike. She struggles to stand and I attempt to help her. I’m about to do so when I spot the bulky frame of Loon pushing through the bushes. Then I am being herded away by the lead mare, her teeth snapping and ears pinned back. From the day before, I know that Loon will not back down or bother with mercy. So I turn around and head slowly back to the herd, though I do turn a few tight circles in an attempt to get back to my sister. However, I am driven off each time and so I resort to going slowly back to the herd, though I do perch on the edge and attempt to hear what is going on in the brush. I have almost dozed off when I hear rustling and turn to look. The herd looks also, ears pricking and eyes scanning the brush. Loon appears with my sister following behind her. I try to get closer, shuffling and twisting but by the way Loon’s ears are pressed firmly against her skull, no one dares get any closer than they might allow themselves. Soon the herd shuffles themselves closer together and huddle away from the wind but I remain looking over the herd, my ears twisting in Loon’s direction and my nostrils quivering. Loon is close enough that I can call across to her. “What did you name her?” I ask, nervous eyes scanning over the little, malnourished filly that quivers at the big mare’s side. Loon’s reply is only, “Bird” and then she turns away, shielding my sister from anyone’s vision but hers. I am at least a bit content for the night, considering Loon has not named her something intentionally irritating or crazy. And so I turn and settle myself closer to the herd and try to get some rest. But my grief clouds me and I sleep fitful dreams. |
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| [/justify][/fancypost] [align=center][size=6pt][color=#bbbbbb](c) greyflower[/size] |
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[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; borderwidth= 0px;overflow: auto; width: 375px; height: 261px;font-family: new times roman;text-align: center;color: #ccbb99;] [size=36pt][font=georgia]end. |
| [/size] [hr][justify] ❥ glossary. [spoiler][align=center][color=#ccbb99]sire - the father of a horse. dam - the mother of a horse. hooman - a human. moon-cycle - a month. muzzle - a horse's nose/mouth (click). elbow - a horse's elbow area (click). withers - a part of the horse's neck/back (click). gait - a horse's pace. foal - a baby horse. suckle - to feed a foal. [/justify][/fancypost] [align=center][size=6pt][color=#bbbbbb](c) greyflower |
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