And She Thinks

She opened her eyes. She was sitting straight up in her bed, her forehead drenched in nightmare sweat. Her room was almost pitch black. "What the hay...?" She muttered. She reached for her lamp on the bedside table with a sleep-heavy hoof and turned it on. The room illuminated with dim yellow light, and she rubbed her eyes. Then she gazed around the room.

Nothing seemed changed. Nothing seemed different. But everything felt different. Wrong. Like the air itself was upset. It was bothering her. Maybe it was the nightmare still affecting her. She sighed and got out of bed, her long golden mane untamed and damp with sweat. The ties that usually hold her mane in place were set on her bedside table, beside her beloved hat.

She ignored both the red ties and her hat, and instead trudged outside to the barn to take a shower. The barn door creaked very softly when she opened it, and her orange fuzzy hooves hardly made a sound when she crept in. She moved to the corner of the barn that held the old shower head and rusty drain. With little effort, she turned the knob and hot water jetted out. She purred under the warmth of the water cascading over her strong frame and mane, soothing her uneasy mood.

After a long while under the steamy water, she turned the shower off and