Summer; when the days are long and hot, and the flies swarm like the plague. One by one, they take turns alighting upon her skin until she shakes them off or slaps them with the black hairs of her tail. Still they come, and try to crawl into her nostrils and ears until she dislodges them with shakes and snorts.
Moonlet has tried all manner of keeping them at bay - mud baths, less fly-friendly climates, long soaks in rivers. The flies still find her, attempting to feast off her and deposit their larval eggs behind as if she’ll play host to a new generation of the pesky insects. Not her though!
The only thing she hasn’t tried is rolling around in shit. But she’s made the usual observation that flies love shit and seem to flock to it. So that rules that idea out, not to mention it just seems gross to coat one’s self so thoroughly in excrement that it wards off all chances of having friends.
Not that Moonlet strives to have friends. She seems content enough to be adrift in this world without them, and without family. Nothing to anchor her to any one place and she doesn’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. Lonely perhaps, but not bad. It gives her a certain freedom denied to others.
It’s that freedom that she’s exercising when she comes across the black mare and her son. His antics are boyish and peg him as thus, as does his scent. Moonlet is smart enough not to come too close - this is a mother and her child, but she acknowledges the mare with a smiling nod.
“Hello there, enjoying the summer?”
Sometimes, the girl doesn’t quite know what to say so she makes banal small talk. Her query is genuine though as she pauses near them, free of flies for once as the summer minutes tick by towards evening and that period of day cooling down.
@[Blasphemare]