He had followed the forking river from the Deep Forest, feeling a sense of relief when he parted from the dark shadows, escaping the labyrinth of twisted trees and hanging vines. He squinted against the sunlight that assaulted his eyes as he emerged into the open, gazing across a browning field dotted with thistles. The spiny purple plants moved with every breath of wind, rustling against each other in a dry, rasping whisper. Warily, Roland moved into the open, dappled hide gleaming like a polished coin under the beams of sunlight warming the field. He continued to follow the path of water, cutting through the grasses and heather like a vein, distributing blood to the thirsting vegetation that lined the river's edge.

There was no motive to his wandering, no purpose or quest he was out to fulfill. This land was still strange to him, and he was not familiar with any of its landmarks or herd boundaries. He walked blindly, wearily, for fear he would step over boundaries and find himself in a place that was not welcoming. A headache pulsed through his skull and he paused, teeth clenched and forehead wrinkling against the pain. He did not allow himself enough time to rest, yet staying in one place for too long made him uncomfortable and nervous. He continued on, the sharp barbs of thistles digging into the sinuous flesh of his legs as he waded through chest high grass.

All worries aside, it was a pleasant day; warm and bright with only a few clouds stretching across the sky. In the distance the lilting tunes of bird song floated through the air, carrying from the distant trees that were the gateway to the Deep Forest; a dark and sinister line cutting across the golden field. He started slightly when his eyes came to rest upon the form of a creature ahead, not far from the stream. Her side was turned to him, and against the light of the sun the stallion noticed shadows stretching across her stomach as if her ribs were emerging violently from her skin. She appeared frail and fragile, head lowered to the grass. He might have avoided her, slipping beneath notice and choosing another route, but something compelled him to near her, confront her and scrutinize her emaciated form.

The mare looked old and pale, sunken in so bones jutted rudely from her skin as if there was no substance to her being. Roland paused, watching her for a moment as she grazed, sparse wings drooping at her sides. She seemed ancient and sickly, walking with sluggish jarring moments. There was a sick feeling in the stallion's heart as he watched, a warm wind tousling his hair. Though he did not know what it was, something compelled him to near the gaunt creature, silently and tentatively as if frightening her might reduce her to a pile of ashes, so fragile was her skeletal body.

As he neared, a stirring of movement caught his eye, and he noticed another mare lying beneath a tall tree, shade cast across her pelt. Though visibly old as well, she appeared in much better condition than the former. Roland’s head dipped as he approached, and he let out a careful, nervous, "hello? " Uttered more as a question than a greeting. His sapphire eyes drifted across the palomino’s decrepit form, lingering on the jutting bones of her spine and the bare structure of her tail. Just how old was she?

[Hope you don’t mind me joining in. Wrote this a while ago and then forgot to post it c: ]


walk walk walk
"talk talk talk"