Do they not understand? I do not belong alongside them. I never intended to come visit, nor come to find out that I would actually have to stay. So why do they approach me, something so unlike them, without fear? Perhaps they do not understand the very concept, of like an babe covered in mother's cover, to know what it is to be truly in despair.

"There ya are!" The little filly with a red bow in her mane nudges the switch with her muzzle, light engulfing all in it's glow. "Granny said git to the table, dinner is ready."

"Granny can wait!" He scribbles even harder against the parchment to the distinct snap. "Gods be damned!"

But I know. I still know. And no matter what comes my way, I needn't the protection afforded by wing and horn any more than I need another invitation from those split hoof troublemakers. They say I need their help. Their guidance. But what would I give for them to admit what I need is the truth.

Do they lie because they are too weak to find a way, or is that what they truly think of me, instead?