In that way alone were Gods and mortals alike: uneasy with their interminable existence. Always looking for some distraction meaningful enough to effectively alleviate the chronic pain of consciousness.
Dwelling on such thoughts became no one (but like existence, it remained a fact of life. Undeniable). The blissful innocence of a subliminal mind seemed to the grazing stallion a veiled gift. Oh, to be a blade of grass, thought the young stallion. Oh, to be a butterfly and to exist in beauty, and to be eaten the very next second without a moment spared for thoughts of its own suffering. To be thoughtless, really, is the only functional way to exist in the present... And I fear I'll never possess such a capability.
Pretty thoughts, to be sure, but invisible to those around him. A sigh worked its way around the food he held in his mouth, though this didn't slow his chewing. His jaw worked ceaselessly to render the grass into pulp. Such a pity, having to provide nutrients for the sack of flesh that harboured his mind. What better things he could be doing as a thoughtless leaf, adrift on a summer's wind; but he only stood there in the meadow, contemplatively feeding his host, a gray tail flicking at a gray side.
Philosophy aside, hunger bid him partake in the carnal act of eating, and so, he did.