Circinae
I guess I don’t have much else to do so I end up wandering here. It’s not all that bad - a little quiet but that seems to me a good thing. The less noise around here the less it seems that horses are abandoning their young. Oh, sure, the smells all remain: Stallion, mare, even old smells that I can’t really place. They’re still here, and the memory they left is still here, but the owners are long gone. Makes me wonder what happened to all the little buggers who didn’t have someone coming through to pick up children like wayward puppies. Such a sad thought.
I was one of the lucky ones anyways. Always had mom and dad somewhere nearby to encourage or reprimand. Though my parents could hardly be called a ‘couple’, they worked silently and easily with one another when they happened to be together. I never understood why that was but I’d never felt the need to ask, so I guess I’ll just never know. One of life’s little mysteries. What concerns me more now is that I’ve picked up on a particular smell that doesn’t seem so old.
All it takes is the rounding of a tree and there she is: little angry ball of red fur and nothing but legs. I’m shocked, actually, to see her out here all alone. Shocked more by the fact that I had no idea what to do with her. I’m practically a baby myself. “Are you … you know, abandoned?” I ask hesitantly, because I can’t really think of anything else to say and she’s just standing there, staring, and I’m not about to be that weirdo who steals someone’s kid. Just another thing to add to my already slowly filling plate.
The Wolf of Water