Post by andiroo on May 9, 2008 23:12:14 GMT -5
(Continued from 'From Yesterday'.)
Wachiwi didn't know how long she'd been walking. She didn't know the last time she'd drank, or ate. Sure, she'd browsed absently at random patches of plains grass, but found it to be tough and unpalatable. The sun beat down on her battered body, the wound on her forehead would forever be a reminder of her time in the Darksun herd, and her battle with the mare Coldheart. The gnats buzzed around her face, landing and feasting on the crusted wound. Sweat dripped from her body, soaking her coat to her skin and drying beneath the sweltering sun. She was so lonely, so tired, so thirsty...she was so ready to give up and let the buzzards have her. A small rise was pretty far away from her, maybe two hundred yards or so. The grass swayed gently there, maybe it was finally Cimarron territory, or at least a watering hole of some kind. She broke into an awkward trot, sides heaving with just that exertion, nostrils blowing. She didn't see the hole made by prairie dogs that had long since come and gone, her front right leg slipping into the crevice and tripping her. She fell heavily to the ground, a grunt of air leaving her lungs in surprise. She carefully pulled her hoof free of the loose soil there, and found that putting any weight at all on that leg shot excruciating pain up her leg. The joint had already begun to swell. Hopefully she could get to cool water and shelter before the cougars, buzzards, or heat got to her. Limping she continued on, nose thrust into the breeze, nostrils wide as she scented for anything: water, other horses...hopefully someone would find her soon.
Wachiwi didn't know how long she'd been walking. She didn't know the last time she'd drank, or ate. Sure, she'd browsed absently at random patches of plains grass, but found it to be tough and unpalatable. The sun beat down on her battered body, the wound on her forehead would forever be a reminder of her time in the Darksun herd, and her battle with the mare Coldheart. The gnats buzzed around her face, landing and feasting on the crusted wound. Sweat dripped from her body, soaking her coat to her skin and drying beneath the sweltering sun. She was so lonely, so tired, so thirsty...she was so ready to give up and let the buzzards have her. A small rise was pretty far away from her, maybe two hundred yards or so. The grass swayed gently there, maybe it was finally Cimarron territory, or at least a watering hole of some kind. She broke into an awkward trot, sides heaving with just that exertion, nostrils blowing. She didn't see the hole made by prairie dogs that had long since come and gone, her front right leg slipping into the crevice and tripping her. She fell heavily to the ground, a grunt of air leaving her lungs in surprise. She carefully pulled her hoof free of the loose soil there, and found that putting any weight at all on that leg shot excruciating pain up her leg. The joint had already begun to swell. Hopefully she could get to cool water and shelter before the cougars, buzzards, or heat got to her. Limping she continued on, nose thrust into the breeze, nostrils wide as she scented for anything: water, other horses...hopefully someone would find her soon.