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

The filly does not immediately start crying when she sees him, which is an immense relief. She does do some rather strnage back and forth of looking at parts of him and parts of herself, and he’s just put the pieces together when she scrambles to her feet. He tries to back away, but the filly is quick.

“Umm.” He manages, looking down at the wide-eyed child.

He’d always assumed that even the dullest of children were capable of recognizing their mother, but it seems that he was either incorrect, or that this child is exceptionally mentally delayed. Texas is never wrong though, which means that the black filly is exceptionally dumb. Of course he’d find a stupid one, he thinks as the child accuses him of having left her. He briefly debates telling her that he is not her mother, but the tears in her eyes as she voices her hunger deter him from that, at least for now.

“Eat some grass?” he suggests, gesturing to the ground with a front hoof.

Wait – children don’t eat grass.

Perhaps they eat clover.

There are a few familiar pink flowers a few yards away, and Texas walks toward them, whickering gently for the filly to follow. “Eat this.” He says, reaching down to bite off a mouthful for himself in case she doesn’t know how to eat.

texas