I can have fingers, if I want them.

Toes. Webbed fingers and toes. I could be a frog if I want but they’re no fun and the conversation is always dull. Always about food, always about bugs and which bug they prefer to eat and which lily pad is more comfortable. I don’t give a shit about bugs or lily pads. Squirrels are fun and discreet when I remember that they’re small and not meant for battles of epic proportions—it’s just that sometimes I get carried away with myself, but I digress.

It’s hot, and like most other horses, I have taken to the shade; unlike most other horses, however, there’s a field mouse squirming around in my mouth—its head pokes out from between my sharp teeth and with a sigh, I snap down and its head pops off. Swallowing hard, I make after the rest of my snack; it isn’t right to waste food, after all. I’m nosing around the grass, sniffing, really, when I spot a familiar shape from the corner of my eye. I lift my head, blatantly staring her down though my mother had tried her best to teach me manners and whatnot. I know her, I cannot readily put a name to the face—but I have seen her somewhere and, well, while field mice are tasty, I forget about mine and head in the mare’s direction. She’s seemingly distracted, possibly caught up in memories and I stand behind her looking awkward because she hasn’t noticed me yet.

The willow’s fronds whip around my head, gently; I think them peaceful until one whips me hard right in the eye. “Motherfucker,” I growl, my eye watering. I snort and shake my head and make such a fuss that it would be hard for her not to realize I’m here. Of course, this isn’t intentional and once I feel I have rightfully cursed at the tree enough, I remember she’s there and turn to look at her sheepishly.

“Er, hello.”

I really don’t know what else to say, if I can say anything. Tongue feels tied. Which happens to me, I think, a lot more than everyone else realizes; I don’t like talking the way everyone else does, or rather, I don’t like bullshitting the way everyone else seems to. So I stand there, ears a-twitchin’, still trying to remember—oh hello, hello. I think I’ve got it.

“You lived in the Jungle, didn’t you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.