You sprinkle star dust on my pillow case; Texas

[Texas]

and I discovered that my castles stand

upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

If Texas were the type to have nightmares, this one would be at the top of the list of ‘most terrible dreams ever’.

The horse beside the waterfall is 1) crying, 2) a crying child, and 3) a crying female child. He’s quite certain that he has never done anything to deserve this particular situation, and in fact has been watching her for several minutes from the shelter of the forest, hoping that someone else will find her first and spare him from the hassle of dealing with it. But no one comes, and Texas would rather not have to fend off corpse-picking crows every time he goes for a drink of water, so he steps forward.

As he draws nearer, he can see that she’s not actively crying, which is a huge relief. All he has to do is make sure she doesn’t start crying, and either push her into the water so she drifts downriver, or find someone else to take care of her. The first option is infinitely easier, but there’s also the possibility that they’re being watched and Texas would rather not deal with any possible consequences for his action.

“Hey,” he says, reaching forward to tap the filly on the side with a slightly-bent fetlock. “Hey. What are you doing? Where’s your Mom?” His heavy drawl makes the words sound kind – an unfortunate side-effect – but he’s also not frowning or actively trying to push her into the water, so perhaps he appears more well-meaning than he had intended.

texas