09-13-2016, 02:22 PM
 |
| How far could he wander. Tied by the umbilical cord that never truly severed, linked eternally to the palomino mare for...12 years. Decade. Decades? Time did not flow in his mind, in his land. He knew only darkness (before), expulsion (birth), and then After. The great After, where time is a missing thread of pieces strung together like so many run on sentences polluting his mind with its ever stopping ever pressing But the fog is lifting. It's lifted. The edges of his vision don't blur anymore, the sharpness of his mind is honed and focused and looking forward. In front he can see more than the back of his mother. In front of him is clear. And he's aging. He's taller than her now, by a head, and growing. Foalish limbs becoming adolescent limbs bending and breaking into adult limbs. One day. For now he ages with the rest of the yearlings, growing like string beans ever upward, ever thinner. Today he tastes adventure. He takes the steps away from his mother while she sleeps, and before he knows it he's out of her sight. Across the wasteland. Free. |