it’s in the stars
it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
we’re not broken just bent

He waited with baited breath, his dull tatty coat trembling with uncertainty. He could not feel the caring, maternal stroke of Delinne’s patient gaze, though the overly sensitive nature of his nerves found naught but unwavering peacefulness to feed off. The humid air penetrated easily through the patchwork of coarse brown fur as it clung loosely to the emaciated furrows of his stunted frame, and his withered skin absorbed the revitalising moisture readily; it was rich with nourishing minerals that were guzzled with greed. The foal’s core slowly began to warm through, and even while strain burdened his immature mind, comfort seeped gradually with the coursing blood through his veins. He wanted to surrender himself to the overwhelming comfort of Mauja’s hot, pressing breath, but as the bow of his neck straightened to extend his little face, that soothing vanished. Naked and meek before the scribes of his future, Druid was vulnerable.

Then a connection was felt. Lips that were velvety soft, supple and warm touched the rough, calloused purse of his muzzle. Breath which was warm and uniquely sour filled the narrow quivering slits of his black nostrils, blowing slowly so as to grace his awkward tension with comfort. The foal’s top lip twitched curiously, warily, and the pearly glaze of his unseeing eyes danced desperately against their dark prison. In that same sentimental moment which seemed to him to continue through an eternity, words had been whispered in such soft and billowy fashion that his tiny cupped ears were beckoned from their bed of spiked, oily mane. "I'm Delinne." She had whispered through the gently embracing exhale that was his first impression; and he lingered a little longer with her in their world- to him it was isolated and private. A breath had been taken, and he felt the chill as she sucked the warmth away to nosh her lungs. Longing for that secure, gripping and hot murmur stirred within him. His wait was short, though in that second a divide formed and her tone was not so smooth to cure his yen. It was smiling now, he could feel the sentiment filling the air around them with casualness. "Like Mauja said, I have a daughter. Her name is Destry, and she's much younger than you. Would you want to meet her some day? She's friendly, just like Mauja here."

The colt did not answer her humble question, nor did he greet the fond nudge of her nose gladly, instead withdrawing his gesture; all too easily overwhelmed. Milky white eyes shifted through the smothering blanket of discomfort, though while they turned towards the direction of Mauja, he held his own; clumsy in his unbecoming independence- much like their first meeting in the days before. He had survived alone, accountable to only himself for the few moths of his very short life, and the defiant shadow of his anti-social soul would not quickly accept asylum- no matter how deserving he was, nor loving the offer.

Quickly, Druid remembered there had been a second mare and instinctively his eyes began to search in vein through the perpetual night’s shade. Again he offered the tentative reach of his muzzle and Leyra responded considerately, offering a similar breath so that he might presumably remember her identity as well. Indeed he would- of all the senses he had left to draw from to create his lonely world, his ability to scent and memorize as such was undoubtedly the greatest; possibly far beyond the comprehension of a typical horse. “I’m Leyra...” The second mare affirmed gently and the colt’s ears received her title obligingly. Almost as quickly as it had been offered, Leyra pulled her muzzle from his reach and Druid found himself stepping to follow, drawn by that which he had only been offered to taste in brief. A curious rumble was trapped between his clenched jaws, as he paused to consider all that had come to pass. An echoing growl mocked the sound, simmering in the emptiness of his starving belly.



"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."