[open] come on skinny love just last the year

[M + S + S + W]

They are an incredibly awkward combination. They very nearly repel everyone surrounding them – both for their ultimate closeness and their repulsing behaviors. Malfunction takes the lead, being the eldest and least impaired of the group. Aside from lack of color in the world and random seizures (though they always happen during thunderstorms), he is relatively normal. Most would see him as the backbone of their little bundle, although they are all hazardously tossed together. They are all the same color – that eerily familiar silver bay of their sire – and it makes them look even more abnormal then they already are.

Their youngest stays in the middle of their congregation. Wound is a pretty girl – mind-bogglingly so compared to her drooling, mute, and epileptic big brothers. She has long lashes which frame doe-like brown eyes set in a slender-cheeked face. Although she inwardly has a devilish concoction of issues, the only noticeable flaw on her body is that undeveloped right foreleg. A hoof ends the leg, but it’s grown too short to do much good. So she limps along, still fuzzy with newborn hair and incredibly tiny compared to her fully-grown brothers, in the midst of their protective huddle.

The early sun greets their faces like a kiss. Skid stretches his face closer to the rays, saliva dripping from his lips, and his eyes close for a moment. “Good God that sun feels good. It was too chilly last night.” His voice is a wet tenor, slippery with the excessive drool that endlessly falls from his mouth. Malfunction only nods briefly, eyes turning toward the Field. They need somewhere safe, especially for Wound. He’d noted from the very beginning of her birth (when a fly had landed on her slick hide and pinched her skin) that her nicks and cuts did not stop bleeding. Even now, her newborn blood flows quietly out of the tiny fly bite on her withers).

If she had a larger injury, Malfunction is sure she would bleed out until there is no blood left to pump her heart or work her brain.

The dappled mare seems like as good a place as any to start. Leading the pack of four, Malfunction makes his way over. He walks slowly, conscious of the multitude of stepping issues within their ranks (Wound’s undeveloped foreleg, Skid’s back legs fused together until his hocks, Smear’s clubfoot right leg), but when he stops, they all follow in ceasing their movements.

“Excuse me,” he starts. He pauses, unsure if this mare will run away like the countless others. “Do you know where we might find a safe place?”

MALFUNCTION, SKID, SMEAR, & WOUND
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