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04-18-2016, 09:06 PM
Whatever it is, I find it first.
Something about the object emanates warmth. I find it when I run my nose through the frosty leaf litter, when I lead myself along with hums that reverberate in my chest. I feel as if I am barely breathing. My senses are overcome with the soft scents of mold, of the earth's frozen turning.
And then there is the thing. Warm and vaguely round, undeniably present. It exudes energy. It's the kind of thing that would whisper to me, if I were mad, to come closer. To touch. To feel. To claim.
Lucky for the rightful owner of the thing, I'm not that confident. I hear the crack of another set of approaching hooves and I step back instantly, my white hoof my only support as I bunch my haunches to alleviate the pressure on my spine. My ears are tossed back, my stance becomes immediately defensive. Not of the object, for I know well enough that it is not my prize to defend. No, I defend only myself.
Like a coward, unknowingly watched over always by his father, I stand submissive before the shadow of a mere sound. A stranger approaches and I cannot even call out to keep them at bay. Will they expect me, when they push their body through the brush? Will they even notice me, my body a muted gray that blends with the mist of this cold day? My gold eyes flash, revealing my weaknesses.
Have I always been so afraid?
""
m i l o
@Brendan
