02-16-2016, 01:00 AM
She sniffles her discomfort. Her mother had walked away, not thinking that the child would live very long. Her stomach growled. What kind of curse is it? To be born with no legs? Everything in her screamed for help. Her head pounding with the anxiety to move and get up on her own accord. but all she can do is move her neck. Laying on her side she squeals.
Was there anyone out there? Would the fairies be able to help her? She needed to walk, she needed to be able to be independent. At least she wasn't wet anymore. No that would have been only more misery for her. Her mother hadn't been that cruel. No her mother had even tenderly whispered a name into her ear.
She couldn't hate the woman, after all how often was it that even as your mother has to walk away from you rather then to sit there and watch as you die, and decay from the inability to move, that they at the very least give you the respect to clean you up and give you a name.
No no she couldn't be mad at the woman for that. Wasn't like her presance in the world would be missed. Or that there was any room for a disabled creature like herself. Well if the wolves didn't get to her soon, starvation and thirst would eventually get to her. In any case it would be a slow and painful death. Why didn't she just put her out of her misery?
No mother in their right mind could do that though. But Petya was to young to understand that. So instead she stood... layed... sat... no she was just there, just being in her little spot. That would become the home for her for the rest of her little and pathetic life.
With a sigh the filly leans her head against the stone wall. The cave being stifling and putrid scent of other bloody corpses, and the cries of other lost souls surrounding her. There was laughter, there was tears, there was death, and there was new life. You couldn't come to a more active crossroads ofthe giving and taking of life then the den.
Was there anyone out there? Would the fairies be able to help her? She needed to walk, she needed to be able to be independent. At least she wasn't wet anymore. No that would have been only more misery for her. Her mother hadn't been that cruel. No her mother had even tenderly whispered a name into her ear.
She couldn't hate the woman, after all how often was it that even as your mother has to walk away from you rather then to sit there and watch as you die, and decay from the inability to move, that they at the very least give you the respect to clean you up and give you a name.
No no she couldn't be mad at the woman for that. Wasn't like her presance in the world would be missed. Or that there was any room for a disabled creature like herself. Well if the wolves didn't get to her soon, starvation and thirst would eventually get to her. In any case it would be a slow and painful death. Why didn't she just put her out of her misery?
No mother in their right mind could do that though. But Petya was to young to understand that. So instead she stood... layed... sat... no she was just there, just being in her little spot. That would become the home for her for the rest of her little and pathetic life.
With a sigh the filly leans her head against the stone wall. The cave being stifling and putrid scent of other bloody corpses, and the cries of other lost souls surrounding her. There was laughter, there was tears, there was death, and there was new life. You couldn't come to a more active crossroads ofthe giving and taking of life then the den.
Petya
whiskers on Kittens