the saints are coming // the saints are coming
i say no matter how i try // i realize there's no reply
“Mama!” he bleats as she pulls away, unwilling to lose this new source of comfort. He watches her as she nears the golden figure, but his gaze is entirely on the gray. Why did she leave, he wonders to himself. But she isn’t that far, he realizes after a frightened moment, and finds himself wanting to follow.
He pushes out with dark haunches, willing himself to rise… to return to her. For a moment, he feels his small body lifting from the ground, and he intuitively pushes out with his forelimbs as well. And for a moment, he stands, a small gray body on wobbly stilts, and his hunger is again forgotten in a second of pride.
But quickly he tumbles back down into a small pile of fluff.
With a small hrmph, he repeats his first attempt, and this time, he finds himself standing successfully. Grinning from ear to ear, he gingerly takes one step forward… then another… then another until he has successfully returned to the gray mare’s side.
Not fulling grasping why, he reaches beneath her, eagerly lapping at whatever might exist. Luckily, he quickly latches on and soon, his belly begins to fill with much welcomed sustenance. Hungrily and noisily he drinks, feeling the warmth expand his small tummy. After a couple minutes, fully content, he hiccups softly and pulls his heads out from beneath her to watch her curiously.
