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For the first time in nearly two days, I realize how hungry I’ve become… feasting upon those curvy mounds with my eyes alone simply isn’t cutting it. Buds of warm, sticky saliva pool on the top of my tongue. Without sparing a moment to idle my sputtering motor -- I drove this muzzle to that perfect field and begin consuming large mouthfuls of sweet, tangy green. Pinions stretch from my warm side and hang loosely, they absorb the sunlight while their longest primaries stir and bend the foliage. Somewhere deep down, my stomach gurgles thankfully. Minutes later, I am fully erect – with bits of gooey grass hanging from both corners. Larger clumps of half chewed cud fail to apply a proper suction; they free fall with a gentle ‘plop.’ My subconscious is a perfect mirror, he stands soldier straight with eyes wider than a swollen lily pad. It might have been sometime next week before I’d willingly broken contact with this glorious buffet…but there are things which demand more attention than food.

Like the most unorthodox creature I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying eyes upon. AND. It was bobbing this way. Fecker, my inner voice whispers, awed but tinted with sour fear, what is that?!

It…that…

No.

He. The unlabeled mammal had the head and body of an average stallion, but the rest was a mystery. I run a rapid search, attempting to explain his accessories. Luckily my motherboard is unhelpfully sarcastic. No wings, no hooves, no tail – well…that’s not entirely true. There IS a tail -- but it wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen sticking from the rear end of a horse. His is meaty, bald. Sort of like an overgrown dick hanging out of his ass. All those years of respect thy elder, don’t judge a shit by its smell...it all abandons me. Though the intentional act of being rude wasn’t there, I find myself unable to look away from this disaster of a stud. Go on outta that. I blink, hopeful he’d vanish.

No such luck.

When close enough to speak without shouting – the male offers a greeting in my second tongue. His accent is as rich and foreign as the creature itself. My subconscious, the delightful help that he was… is still in a stupor; all bug eyed and slack jawed. Before I can begin the fabrication of useful ideas, his massive sneeze sends a responding ripple of unrefined shock and disgust from my curled muzzle to tail tip. I cringe, snorting and pull my wings in while simultaneously taking a healthy step in reverse. He blathered on, apologizing and lifting one of those strange, predatory appendages to his nose, wiping a clear trail of bogey from it.

I dumbly follow his eye trail, until both of us are silently gawking at those slimy leftovers for longer than what most people would considered normal. “H-howya,” my auto pilot kicks in. Apparently one can be semi brain-dead and still form usable words. Through sheer will I break contact with the bogey, but before I could stop myself that snarky auto pilot keeps motoring on, “Not to be a gimp…” truly, “but…” the words tumble from me, cheek as a tool, “What the hell are you?” Arched brows are somewhere lost in my hair.