FAMILIAR BREATH OF MY OLD LIES
CHANGED THE COLOR IN MY EYES
Wichita had always been small. Much too small for most things. She was however, never too small to raise her brood. Some might have things to say about the way she went about birthing children left and right. They could not say she did a poor job at it, because that just wasn't true.
No if there is one thing the pony sized mare knew how to do, it was to raise a child. It was very simple you see, feed it, love it, keep it out of trouble (for the most part). Some just couldn't be bothered to do the most mundane of tasks, perhaps they thought it beneath them? Whatever the reason, whatever the excuse, the tiny southern lady couldn't bare for a child to suffer.
She steps lightly into the adoption den, blinking her chocolate eyes into what she felt was a very sad place. The Egyptian markings glint in gold around her stare, searching for some tossed away little thing. It's like they say one woman's trash was another woman's treasure, or however it goes.
It's not long before she spots a young colt, huffing his dismay at the wall before him. Gently she approaches, a dainty little thing, calling softly to the boy. "Hey there sug.." She breathes, her voice sweet as syrup. A thick southern drawl drips from her muzzle, and she tosses the flaxen hair from her eyes. "Sweet thang look at ya, don't worry dear.." She coo's, coming to stand before him. "Right nice to meet ya, I'm Wichita, what's yer name hon?" She smiles warmly, though her skin ripples at a gust of cool wind.