The colt was not much to look at- skin draped languidly about his bony hips, and sagged to either side of his short jutting spine; neck was bowed, holding the bulk of his petite narrow face with all the strength it could muster; and cloudy white, unseeing eyes sunk gravely into their sockets, giving a rather ugly facade. A pointed horn, charcoal grey and well textured, grew well between his eyes. And two smaller, less conspicuous horns descended both in size and location, down the ridge of his short nose. His coarse, dull coat was ungroomed and matted by the friction of rubbing legs against his girth. It was average brown for the most part, though his slim rump was grubby white, and it sprayed delicately down each of his hind legs; reaching up to frost his pointed withers, and down to the tips of his knobbly elbows. Each leg was dressed with a pallid (yet dirty) sock pulled smartly up to about to his knees- and his hocks to the rear. The oily hairs building his mane and tail were short, and still somewhat downy; their hue the same as, if not darker than his coat.

Druid saw the world from a different perspective; he felt deeply and touched more intimately; perhaps his short pitiable life was truly richer however, than any other soul in Helovia. A breeze bitter and holding the promise of long awaited rainfall, fingered beneath the casual flop of his young mane. Its whispering breath reached forward to stroke the waiting whiskers spread about his chin and the colt sucked deeply through quietly fluttering nostrils. He could taste the shift of season in the early day, as he pressed closely against the rough bark of an old twisted tree clothed in thick, cool shade- a fringe of trees skirting a small clearing in Threshold’s vast forest. He had been lurking through this area for a week or so, skilfully learning the pattern of business undertaken by the many horses coming and leaving. Apparently few lingered for longer than a day (he had the basic understanding of a day- this time was generally filled with chatter, sunlight and the bustling commotion of activity).

Somehow, the colt’s loitering had passed the masses unnoticed. Druid preferred the peace and quiet of his chosen isolation, but found also a comfort for the instinctual longing for company, by sitting just beyond the crowds- untouched and ignored. He lacked social drive, the skills also needed to slip between these creatures and fit in. There had been no one to teach him these short six months that he had so far survived, and for the most part he knew no different. To Druid, this dark intimidating world was the norm. He smoothed a small round hoof across the loam, feeling the bulging resistance of a grassy tussock. Craning his short neck downward, the colt lipped resourcefully at the outstretched leg, following its path towards the grass at its end. Removing his hoof, he hastily chewed the tussock down until his teeth could find no more than the leftover, barely exposed roots. He lifted his face once more into the bleak darkness of his unique day, a soft sigh escaping the purse of his thin lips, and he pressed his ears forward against the hum of chatter to perhaps catch the direction of someone else’s conversation.

Somewhere nearby, the thrum of conversation between two, maybe three horses held the little colt’s lonesome interest. One horse was softly spoken and guarded; there was a thick and almost incomprehensible accent soaking her words and her voice was shaded with melancholy. It worked as a barrier he supposed, to keep someone at a secure distance.
Druid’s hollowed flank flinched where a fly caught its breath, savouring the bitter taste of its host’s crusted sweat. He did not catch her name when a stallion requested it; the colt’s ears did not easily grip the strange slur as it was presented. The same stallion spoke again then and his voice rose offensively above the general drone filling the air. The young horse’s ears flickered uneasily and he shifted his weight backwards, long bony hind legs stiffening in response. He did not shrink back into the shadows though yet; he was practiced now in the art of estimating proximity, and the stallion whose voice boomed beyond all reason had created an illusion of sorts.

The colt’s stomach churned and the noise as it rumbled vibrated the very base of Druid’s long throat. It hungered for the thick warm comfort of milk, starved of nutrients and deprived the pleasure from greed. He did not react though, as the feeling recurrent and a thirst he had failed to quench time and time again. He persisted with his distraction, pearly eyes watching that direction, unblinking and numb of all sense.

The third voice which he filtered out from the rest could have been a mistaken addition as it was also quiet and very nearly brooding in pitch. He matched its trend into the flow of the conversation though regardless, and it seemed to fit well enough. It was much like the first- the unmistakable gentleness of tone that his mother had (or what he distantly remembered of her), it was feminine. This horse spoke not of herself like the stallion before her, instead describing a place- a green (lush was the term she used) pasture flanked by patchy thicket and woodland, all sprawled around the jagged feet of a towering mountain range. Druid found no pictures to decorate this story though, no matter how passionate and devoted the mare’s story became, all he could envisage was suffocatingly lonely black.

The three continued at length but the colt became restless, unable to find any fantastical, placement into any such talk, and so slid backwards slightly along the cold rigidness of the oak as though detaching himself.

The cold Orangemoon breeze came once more to swirl teasingly around the elevated hang of his motionless head- still his ears remained erect, positioned as high as the colt could manage to catch even the slightest thud of hoof against loam. The dribble of air carried across it’s back a fresh clutter of scents, the thick and smothering (because his smell was finetuned and sensitive, compensating for his lack of sight) aromas of the same horses upon whom he had been eavesdropping perhaps- he would never know. A sharp declining snort burst from his nostrils. Druid was tiring quickly, the energy from what grass and foliage he found to eat was hardly suitable to sustain the growth of a foal.

Moments passed, before the offering of a new voice broke the cool emptiness as it closed quickly around the colt. He had not before found its worth in the churning sea, here on Helovia’s brim, and at first knew not to where it was intended. Druid was instantly unsettled at the closeness of the voice, neither hoof fall or breath travelled beside those words and his face moved blindly in the direction from whence it had come to intercept any further sign of company. He did not answer, though his ears danced quickly, backwards and forwards, riding the sudden gush of blood when it bombarded his brain. The stranger’s voice was as soothing as it was genuine, or so the colt felt relying on naught but his instincts to read between the lines. Druid had been alone, wandering for so long now that any normal, or expected response to tenderness from foal as young as he, had been lost already. The colt stomped forward warningly with one front hoof in the same second blowing a harsh grunt, though one as small and raw as he was could never amount to anything more than a wary bluff. It was a very necessary defence mechanism which had already warded away inexpert wolf pups and the like. Fear was not something he had encountered yet; a determined want to survive was all he knew. But the foal wavered uncertainly on the spot, his next move not coming so easily when the stranger spoke again, apparently undeterred.

“N...n... not alone...” He whispered into the darkness, a stutter painfully bruising the sentence. It was not a defect so much as a behavioural twitch. Maybe it was caused by his uneasiness. The colt did not elaborate, he was critically aware of the bustling region surrounding him. Finally the collaboration of his senses found through the deafening throb of his pulse, a muffled step and instantly the child’s vacant gaze found its target. Unconsciously, Druid extended his pointed muzzle and with twitching lips he carefully tasted the air between them. There was indeed a stronger scent lacing the frigidness of the morning, but it was slow to find him while the breeze did not flow.

“Something is wrong...” her weathered voice breathed apprehensively as she labelled him “Druid”. Though rimmed with softness, the words carelessly spilt confusion and concern into her newborn’s damp ears. He did not move where he lay, even as the old mare’s rough lips nuzzled dissatisfied about his weak, underdeveloped body. She did not clean this one like she did the others; her instincts could not find their attraction. The foal had been born too early the practiced mother knew, as the sudden onset of labour had been induced by her own ailing health.

She coughed sharply, and her child startled in the darkness- a strangely bitter contrast to the vivid sun-soaked day. “So you are alive.” the mare responded to the unexpected manner of his jerk, assessing his seemingly limp frame with a glazed look of disdain. Pity swelled in the old horse’s tired heart, yet disgust choked her compassion and she turned from him, heaving the bulk of her weight forward and up off the grass which lay crushed beneath. “You need to stand if there is any chance for you to survive...” She did not turn to see if the tiny creature would follow her somewhat detached directive; perhaps she hoped secretly that he could not, that way he would not be a burden to her pride.

The alien sound of his mother did not feed his infantile yearning to be loved; nor did the touch of her to his thin wet coat bring warmth and security. The foal listened where he lay, but did not understand the grave disappointment diluting the sincerity of her words. There was only darkness. The small slits of his nostrils sucked thirstily at the warm, dry air but blood and fluid still clung to the fine bristly hairs within them and he could not smell. Mother and child failed to connect. Her warmth braced him slightly, allowed his feeble body to configure a mild strength, though when she lifted from his side a sickening sense of abandonment ricocheted through him. Impulsively, and after many stumbling attempts to find his unsteady feet, he followed the trail of her voice. It was not an easy task, and he floundered in his darkness, his bony legs snagging in the sheltering thicket, tiny half-moon hooves slipping on scattered stone. Regardless he continued forward as though pulled to her by a brittle, (fractured) chain.

She did not wait for him; she did not want to be seen publicly. The mare journeyed swiftly and indifferently, to the closeness of woodland even further from her homeland. Only when the spindly shadows of pines dappled her identity did she pause, offering herself begrudgingly to the ugly foal to nurse for the first time. He did catch her, and drank feverishly until he was full. Then he collapsed in a weary pile onto the coolness of the grassless forest floor. Already the mare planned to leave him. She would let him nurse less and less over the course of a month (she knew that she risked excruciating engorgement if he did not wean gradually). She did not want this child though; such a malformed creature was not of her clean blood.

~

The stranger lingered, and Druid heard the soft heave of a sigh. He tucked his chin close beside the warm curve of his throat, and his ears paused mid-flick erect and ever focused. Words filled the vacant space about him once again and they did not remind him of his mother; the prickly mare, whose so had ungraciously seared worthlessness into his meek and very vulnerable heart. “N...n...no,” the small colt answered, maybe not understanding the meaning behind his company’s questioning. Again his nose moved forward, and through fluttering nostrils he tested the stallion’s scent once more. It lingered, the permanence of his presence crafting a more notable impression in the motionless air. He supposed the other horse would be doing similarly (blindly searching, whisker brushing against whisker) and withdrew his face diffidently, satisfied and eager to avoid confusing the plainness of the situation with physical contact.

“Th...There is no one.” The foal affirmed blandly, and realised as he did so that it meant he was in fact alone. “W...w...w...whoops.” He yielded awkwardly to his mistake, stepping backwards and leaning closely against his tree. Perhaps it would swallow him whole, and this strange, increasingly complicated exchange would vanish- a child’s response indeed. Druid’s unrehearsed approach lacked confidence, and he was quickly noticing that his broken words were upsetting the fluidity of the conversation. They were not flowing like so many of the conversations that he had witnessed during the week passed. The colt did not speak often as he was not socially adept, introverted; he couldn’t find a place for himself amongst those whose voices seemed so gracefully to mingle and blend. Regardless, he had finally been thrown into the mix, or so it seemed, and hesitantly the child waited- trapped by insecurity to find out his company’s reaction to that blunder.

The colt drank the sound of the stallion’s voice greedily through intently listening ears, as though it would fill him with a sort of relief or liberation that he could not yet understand. It was the infant in him, the tiny helpless wretch which reached longingly through the haze of grim, black confusion to snatch every word offered. The colt could not see expression and therefore had no need to guard his own, he was barefaced- an open book. Druid shivered though, perhaps because in the thickly dappled pocket of shade, the sunlight’s warmth could not sink to touch his thin blanket of hanging skin. Or maybe it was the alien touch of care against his reviled heart; emotion (no matter how modest) caressing an involuntary helplessness in him. “It’s alright...” the sound echoed through his mind, bouncing through the empty and unfilled space. He was a clean slate; gullible and comprehensively mouldable.

It was truly a knifes-edge that wavered beneath his petite hooves. Defencelessness and infantile cowardice beckoned him from the safety of that shadow, yet the loner which had become some amount of his character, compelled him to take flight into the opening arms of solitude. Druid knew nothing of time, he had never felt the weight of responsibility, nor did he understand patience. He was a creature of habit, pure impulsiveness- and he had survived with that. His head tilted slightly at the heaviness of his concentration. Tiredness was chipping away at his sickly strength. Soon he would need to find grass again- a hidden place to revive away from the overwhelming hum of this place.

The foal’s eyelids grew heavy and sank a little finding no traction where his gaze searched absently; no reason to hold on. The stallion seemed unwavering, unrelenting as he pursued Druid, and as the surge of adrenaline which had fuelled the foal into defence began to diffuse (unable to maintain such, with no energy stores to draw from), the young appaloosa leaned a little more against his crutch. Still he listened hesitantly as his company continued, asking too for his name. There was a name, and he worked steadily to find it from the lost memories of his past. “D...d...Druid.” he stammered, though the world held little value, and his jaw tightened to trap a rebel yawn as it stretched upwards through his throat.

There was very little Druid could say. What he knew of the world he had discovered only by means to survive- like the taste of grass, or bitter leaves when his stomach could wait no longer; that shelter from burning heat or freezing water (that fell from the sky), could be found when he pressed himself against rough barky tree wood. Conversation was unnecessary during lonely wandering, and the sound of his fractured voice deterred him from sounding for the most part anyway. He knew nothing about Gods and powers, nor kingdoms or employment; not day or night, or if the weather was fine. Even if he had wanted to meet Mauja halfway, there was nothing he could say. He stood there hopelessly, but because he could, Druid would endure.

Droo-id... The foal’s ears snapped forward the second Mauja repeated that word; his name, and it sounded ugly when it resonated unpleasantly in his mind. It held no sentiment in the child’s throbbing heart (something about the distant memory of a mare in his past, almost), but when the stallion issued it with such gentleness and flagrant compassion Druid was drawn forward a step, cooperatively perhaps.

No matter how gauche he appeared, wrapped up in feral gangly awkwardness; nor how aloof the invisible dome beneath which he hid from culture, allowed him to be, the infant was still a creature of habit- one of instinct. His neck bowed upwards inelegantly, and the short flimsy fold of greasy mane flapped at the suddenness of the movement. Maybe it was the sheerness of the ailing foal’s exhaustion which bent him into humble submission. Locked in wary silence he slipped forward again slightly, charmed in a sense, by the resolute beckoning of Mauja’s promising voice. There would be hope for a foal who faced inevitable death (no matter how determined his yearning for survival was), when his wilfulness caved to the suppressive weight of logic.

His small face tilted sidewards, unable to grasp the proper location of Mauja when he continued talking. "I have many friends, in a place called the Basin. If you do not want to be alone anymore, we'd gladly take you in, protect you, and make sure you always have food and shelter..." The colt could not have known his own predicament- much like the certain yet oblivious demise of the youngest, and weaker of two chicks in a pelican’s nest. Life was about survival of the fittest, and in that respect, Druid fell far short.

For a third time, his muzzle extended outwards- finally twitching, searching for some form of connection which might bind the stallion into reality. “I...I...I...” It was difficult, his thoughts fighting to control his rebel tongue, just as wild moths (far heavier and more unsettled than the delicate softness of butterflies) began to stir in his agitated, empty stomach. His brow furrowed with frustration, and his stale expression became one of disheartenment. “Ok.” He breathed quickly, and the word slipped simply amid the soft exhalation from his lungs.

His tread was lopsided, cursed by muscle wastage, something that would undoubtedly cause any following journey to be long and arduous. Druid did not know any different though, trapped ignorantly in damaged casing, completely unaware that those around him suffered little the way he struggled, if at all. Again his milky eyes sought the visual comfort of Mauja, broadening as they peered fruitlessly through the black. Through nervous apprehension, he silently committed himself to the stallion’s offering, unsure now what to expect or what was to come from this.