Today, Mother was generous. She granted us a set time period to explore, seeing as how I'd been an obedient child and stayed in the forest these past few days, she thought of this as a reward. She even noted how I hadn't been overstepping my feeding (I thought for a moment she had been mad that I hadn't tried to take more than what she offered). I'd hurried away before she changed her mind and decided she wanted to strike me for the fun of it. Maybe somewhere deep in the crevices of my mind, I knew she wanted desperately to break the will of her runt child— of the shamefully disobedient colt she hadn't wanted to birth. With each time she struck against my ribs, my head, my legs— anywhere she could bite or kick— I knew that I would always be on her bad side, destined to always be hit even when I'd done nothing. With each fleeting second I felt the fury of her gaze burrow deeper, burning into the back of my nape as I fled from beneath the pines and out into the world once again— this time abiding by the rules Mother had set. 

I plowed through the meadow, content with my temporary isolation as I made my way through the open expanse of plain, bounding with the youth and freedom Mother tried so hard to beat out of me. I shrugged away my doubts, my questions and curiosity as I thundered through the frost layered fields, a monochromatic blur of power and arrogance. I almost wanted to laugh, to forget more than just Mother's stern sight, but the dangerous reality she described, the underlying truth in the things that she preached to me every chance she got. 

Ew. 

What the fuck was that?

I stopped so abruptly, I teetered dangerously close to falling flat on my ass (that would've been great for my ego). The smell (so icky) hit me the way a tree would if you ran at it full speed, it was absolutely disgusting and intolerable— it was almost as disgusting as the thing that was wallowing around the source. I step closer, neck straining to see what the foal was doing. Bubblegum pink eyes settle on the most Disgusting (with a capital D) this I have ever seen. "What—the—fuck." I spit out, using the word Mother often blared at me in her blind rage. I couldn't be bothered to censor myself, not with that before me. 

A midnight black filly stood before the grotesquely tattered remains of a young fawn, its scattered insides spilling from its gaping gut and laying at the hooves of the girl. I hesitate on stepped forward, not wanting to get dissected by this psycho baby with an interest in blood, guts and the grotesque. "That's nasty." Whether I was referring to the vulnerable entrails, the chick so eagerly consuming them, or the bloody horns protruding from the girl's face, I don't know. Perhaps all three?

I noticed her horns as I shuffled closer, eyeing her smaller dark body with a look of pure revulsion at the sight of her nearly hairless tail and newly grown obsidian blades. She was almost as putrid a sight as the carcass, my lip curling with discontent at the scene that lay before me. As a king, this was unacceptable. I would not have even the peasants frisking through dead animals remains— that was unhygienic. And I— with my well kept hair and pristine invariant coat— am the perfect example of good hygiene. I don't reek of death and stomach bile like this child does (nor do I look like I'd just committed mass murder), if I did I don't think I'd be making a public appearance just yet. A king always has to look his best.

"That's so gross." I inform her (just in case she didn't know), looking down at the mess with distaste. I wanted to add 'you're gross' but I'd give her a chance to prove she wasn't like the other horned mongrels I'd come across— that she could hold her tongue and not question my authority or the reasoning behind my words. I eyed every single exposed organ, the unmoving mass of flesh that made up the insides of the fawn (and possibly me), covered in dirt and grass at the onyx hooves of the younger foal. 

"Talk."

kid