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Who turned the light out? The question sounded like a child's, but it was mine. When the moon had left, and the sun had not risen I no longer had my headaches. I no longer could "sense" another. I was caught between being relieved, and extremely, horribly shook up of what this meant. I knew nothing of this place, and now I had to wander alone with a basic need obliterated. There was no one to ask, and I had never believed in a deity to pray to now. What did I have, but myself?
The cold and black became my new companions. Silver hooves clipped through the snow. I was followed by my hollow steps, prodding through this world of gray, and black. Often my eyes ventured heavenward, certain by now I would see something that stood out. There was nothing to catch my eyes that were straining against this endless hell. I couldn't leave if I wanted to, where had I came from I was barely able to keep track of. Beyond that I was lost. Panic didn't find me yet, I still had ears so I may hear, a nose to test the wind, and a "perfect" horn upon my head. This season was familiar from the place in which I had called home. I needed nothing I wanted to tell myself. I would survive this invisible battle. Even if I couldn't kill this foe, I had to keep fighting. Death could not easily take my last breath.
Distinguishing shadows was not easy, and I listened hard against my parting breaths, against the crunches of snow. Someone had to be out there. Anyone? I did not succumb to neighing out a call. I wasn't a desperate man --not yet.
There was a faint little light, I could swear in the distance. It was obscured by the fingers of a tree, but the glow seemed so bright against the vast black of my new life. I halted peering for a good hard second, before I heard strange chattering and let out a weary snort, my bones going rigid beneath my blue coat. "Hello?" I test my voice, my nostrils twitching because I felt more vulnerable to predators in this new world.
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