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As you're nosing through your bag you're interrupted. Something squeaks and you stamp your forefoot loudly. Your tail swishes erratically as you swing your head quickly (or as quickly as something as massive as you are can) towards the sound. You look down instead of forward. You're used to it. Your parents were big, of course, but not everyone in your old herd was as tall as you. What you see below you makes you toss your head back. A little filly, muddy champagne, with an annoying blue light shining of her horn. The plants have all kinds of side effects. Some of them are visual. Right now, the filly's blue horn is bothering your eyes. After all, you've been wandering in relative darkness until now. A stomp of your forefoot into the muddy ground lets the world know how you're feeling. Yeah... you're real good at first impressions.
You hear the little one's small voice and flick ears toward her, lowering your head to see better. Your neck is dipped below your withers as you more or less put your eyes at your level. At least your eyes are below her horn now. It helps a little. Anyways, it's a good thing there is a foot or two of space between you two. Otherwise you'd look like a real creep right now. You hear her call herself a doctor and a low rumble builds up in your throat. You're laughing because you're not sure one so small is worthy of practicing medicine. Your laughter fades away as the little one keeps talking. You'd open your mouth to answer but she won't stock her yapping.
“Do I look like a dolt?” Your voice is a rumbling, gravely sound. You're talking at a reasonable volume, you've just got a deep voice. You mean to say that you won't step on her but your question probably isn't phrased the best. After all, you do look like a real mess. Your socks are muddy as all hell- if anyone can even tell you have socks anymore. Your coat is caked in mud too, and bushes and brambles and anything else you might have walked through. Your mane and tail are knotted and uneven. Even your paired horns have plant leaves pierced and stuck there. Yeah... you probably do look like a dolt.
You swing your nose up and around, shoving it into your bag suddenly. You more or less ignore anything else the filly said, your mind suddenly returning to the emptiness of the satchel on your shoulder. You dig out one of the few vines that are left in there and drop it on the ground, stepping on the very end of the plant protectively and lowering your head back to her level. “Have you seen this plant?” Your voice is demanding, louder now. Something in your eyes has changed. Your look is a little more wild, a little scarier perhaps. “Anywhere, anywhere at all. Have you seen this plant!” You don't care about her group. You care about you. You care about getting the fix you need. You care about finding somewhere you can harvest locoweed and have everyone leave you the fuck alone.
You hear the little one's small voice and flick ears toward her, lowering your head to see better. Your neck is dipped below your withers as you more or less put your eyes at your level. At least your eyes are below her horn now. It helps a little. Anyways, it's a good thing there is a foot or two of space between you two. Otherwise you'd look like a real creep right now. You hear her call herself a doctor and a low rumble builds up in your throat. You're laughing because you're not sure one so small is worthy of practicing medicine. Your laughter fades away as the little one keeps talking. You'd open your mouth to answer but she won't stock her yapping.
“Do I look like a dolt?” Your voice is a rumbling, gravely sound. You're talking at a reasonable volume, you've just got a deep voice. You mean to say that you won't step on her but your question probably isn't phrased the best. After all, you do look like a real mess. Your socks are muddy as all hell- if anyone can even tell you have socks anymore. Your coat is caked in mud too, and bushes and brambles and anything else you might have walked through. Your mane and tail are knotted and uneven. Even your paired horns have plant leaves pierced and stuck there. Yeah... you probably do look like a dolt.
You swing your nose up and around, shoving it into your bag suddenly. You more or less ignore anything else the filly said, your mind suddenly returning to the emptiness of the satchel on your shoulder. You dig out one of the few vines that are left in there and drop it on the ground, stepping on the very end of the plant protectively and lowering your head back to her level. “Have you seen this plant?” Your voice is demanding, louder now. Something in your eyes has changed. Your look is a little more wild, a little scarier perhaps. “Anywhere, anywhere at all. Have you seen this plant!” You don't care about her group. You care about you. You care about getting the fix you need. You care about finding somewhere you can harvest locoweed and have everyone leave you the fuck alone.
