the Rift


[PRIVATE] Shooting Range

Colt Posts: 68
Hidden Account atk: 3.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Equine :: 14 hh :: 5 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE
Dark
#1

It's bizarre how easily the line between reality and fantasy can be blurred. You would think that out of any innate sense, the perception of reality would be a foremost skill set, though as Colt welt knew, sometimes only the ability to escape into fantasy helped you survive. Maybe that's why we dream.

The giving tree she'd come across felt like a dream. It was too good to be true to be real. Life was not prone to giving, that much she knew. Still, upon waking today she felt curiosity wiggling at the back of her skull, prompting her to venture beyond the Foothills once more. She thought of traveling back to where the tree had stood, but part of her was afraid to be so bold. She wanted to know, yet she enjoyed the idea of it existing, real or not. Once she knew the truth then all the poorly sewn seams of her conscious would unravel and the tapestry of her memory would lie barren and ugly. Did she want to risk that just for knowledge? What had knowledge and truth ever given her anyway?

She snorted, nearly turning back several times, but as worried as she was so too was she restless. She'd play it safe though, like always.

Instead of going back to the tree Colt dipped into a nearby meadow. She searched for a while until she found a particularly open section, composed mainly of short and tough grass, and dirt. With concentration she collected several sizable pebbles, and with mouth and hoof lined them up in a row. In the distance a scrawny tree stood tall, innocent and whole until now.

"Shoot," she whispered, exhaling the word after a count of three. Her left eye squinted shut while her right front hoof cocked back. The trigger swept into position, then slammed against the back of the bullet as her fetlock ticked her toe forward. The pebble spun neat and clean across the field, thwapping the tree trunk with an audible impact.

Colt did this six times in a row, and then she knew it had been real.


HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN




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