{E} Show me {LE} the fire {KT} in your {R} eyes {A}

There was rain. Rain started to fall, and that was what I remember first feeling. The rain, despite the presence of water, was something I enjoyed more than the desert home I was born in. Sand was the next thing I felt. It was gritty, I remember, and some came into my mouth as I fall onto the bed of sand. That was my first feeling of Earth. Warmth from before faded, and it was the cold shoulder of water that sheltered me first. But the sand beneath me I could feel, and I felt at home suddenly. I could feel other heat around me, but they didn’t move. Fur, was the next thing I felt. I used my new nose, sniffing. It smelled like me, and I made a noise, a slight yipping, using my vocal cords for the first time.

I couldn’t see, my eyes were closed by skin, though I knew they were there. But I had to feel my way to my mother, and I could smell something new, and it drew me towards her. I felt my mother’s tongue lick my newfound skin, and it felt just like the rain that was still pouring on me. But there was something else I was searching for, and I knew I needed it: food. I found one of her nipples, and I started to suckle. The first thing I tasted was milk, sweet and nurturing. It was what I needed. I felt my mother next, more fur, and she touches me as I drink for the first time. Then there is other sound, voices, but my mind is not yet developed enough to understand them, but I do remember. I know now it was Aryel and her companion Java offering my mother and me shelter, and a newer mare named Africa. After I am done suckling, I get up, and I can smell something else.

It smells like me, but is not I. What could this possibly be? I felt more fur, and it was little. It was somewhat warm, but not warm at the same time, and it was covered in goo. And there was more than one. I yip, afraid, and I stumble, tripping back to my mother. What I didn’t know is that I had just told my brothers and sisters goodbye, and that their bodies would stay still forever more. My mother was warmer and they were, and she was a comfort to me, and I yip again, a tiny whisper in the growing storm. It starts to rain harder now, and there is a flash of something, and I can barely see it through my eyelids. A loud noise echoes around me, and I whimper and reach for my mother’s fur. I try to hide under her I am so afraid, and I want the noise to stop. I hated storms from that day on, but I love the rain.



"Talk."
Think