It felt like a closet door creaking open after being hidden from the sun. The light burns your eyes, burns your skin but you instinct to live keeps picking you up when you fall. It tells you to keep walking long after the blisters have wept.
Lior finds himself in the field. All around him are throngs of horses. Big. Tall. Fat. Skinny. Mares. Stallions. Foals. Their warmth, their breathing made his jaw clench and his eyes squint tight to slivers. He is no prize amongst the living and the hobbling left hind limb reminded him of that.
The dark male is massive in height compared to the other field dwellers but his gait is hitched every time he moved to swing the motionless left leg around in a semi-jerk. He had years to practice and perfect his jagged walk. Lobes do not move as there is no reason for their purpose, he only hearts his own head beat throbbing.
Lior, in return to being born defected, had learn to read and feel the vibrations, the the body language, the lips moves to sound out words.Dark gray eyes remained hooded beneath the thickness of his forelock, watching the others. Each footfall is calculated, methodical except for the rounded motion of the hind leg.
When the soil grows softer and the grass more lush, the thick skull of the black male dips to tug a few shards of green upward. He chews slowly while looking outward and awaiting to see who would approach.
LIOR
