Here he is - again.

Just like last time, it's raining heavily as he plods dejectedly into familiar territory. He hadn't meant to come here, but his aching legs simply guided him of their own accord towards somewhere they knew. He recognises these trees, trees he'd sheltered under last time, trees he'd blundered into as he fled from the horned-winged-monstrosities that had greeted him all that time ago. During the months since, he has tried not to dwell on what he saw last time he was here, but he knows that if he is to make a life here, he'll have to get used to the freaks. Because it's apparent now that he's just too damned unlucky ever to find himself back with humans, so he's going to have to co-inhabit with other horses if he wants to survive out in the wild. The Helovians he'd met had seemed friendly enough despite their deformities, and better the devil you know...He'd rather come and live with them than risk the ire of any other wild herds rampaging around in the wilderness.

The idea of having to live in a herd makes him roll his upper lip in disgust, and one immaculately trimmed hoof stomps down irritably as he plods along. After all, not everybody is a pampered, prissy gelding who has never known hardship. The horses he'd met last time emenated wildness, reminding him of the unbacked youngsters he'd known around the stable. They were feral, and if he was to survive then he must become like them. He knows he cannot survive alone - he doesn't have many useful insticts, but he does have the one that tells him he needs company, needs socialisation, needs a herd to protect and teach him. He's survived alone in the weeks since the tornado that cast him away from his home, but it hasn't been easy. If it wasn't for his ample stores of fat, he'd probably be dead. He daren't eat anything except grass for fear it is something poisonous, and grass is so boring. A week or so ago he found a delicious apple tree and nearly had an aneurysm with glee, but barely managed to wolf down two juicy red fruits before a small herd of bachelor stallions chased him away from it with kicks and bites. They sensed he was an easy target, sensed he was different, and he'd fled with bruises on his rump and jibes of ball-less freak ringing in his ears.

Stallions are assholes.

The idea of living with them is vaguely frightening, but Badger tries not to think about that as he trudges the final few steps into the Threshold, his heart pounding. No going back now. Any second now, he'll undoubtedly be approached by a horned or winged monstrosity, and he steels his quivering body in anticipation. The rain makes it cold and he tries to put his shivering down to this, not fear, nope. ""