Journey to the West

It was raining that day, as it had been for the past ten days. Only that on this day, it was heavier than normal.

Mother lay in discomfort, breathing heavily as she eased herself against a sack of rice. The Mid-mare was by her side, ready to assist at a moment’s notice. They had both come into the barn when the sky was but merely overcast; they would now have to stay put until the rain died down.

The sky flashed brightly as a tendril of lightning slashed its way across the horizon, followed by a boom of thunder. Mother groaned as the first contraction seized her. The Mid-mare immediately sprang into action, believing that the thunder had induced the birth. Another flash of lightning, followed by a rush of thunder, and the second contraction tore through Mother’s birth canals, sending her into a frenzy of pain as the Mid-mare cheered her on. By the third clap of thunder, a soft brown head popped out. By the fourth, its forelimbs. By the fifth, the rest of the foal came spilling out in a mix of birth juices, blood, and sweat.

I was born. Barely breathing, but alive.

The rains swelled suddenly, then abated slowly, gradually becoming no more than mere drizzles that reflected the sun, emerging from behind receding clouds. Outside the barn, birds chirped, while a cool wind blew from east to west.

“It seems that the weather has favored his arrival,” remarked Mid-mare.

“Yes, it seems to have…” sighed Mother, as she cradled me in her hooves. She gazed upon the foal that she’d just given birth to. Small, diminutive, naked, and vulgar; a big brown head with tufts of red hair, and large round eyes shut behind wet, fragile eyelids. She brought a tired hoof up upon my little head, gently stroking the small patch of carmine hair.

“What will you name him?” asked Mid-mare.

“Hmm…” ruminated Mother. “He was born in a thunderstorm. Why not called him ‘Thunder’?”

“Thunder…it sounds strong!” exclaimed Mid-mare. “But he looks a little…tiny. Er, ‘wee,’ perhaps. Do you think such a name suits his size? I mean no offense, though.”

Mother smiled instead. “Yes. He is rather small, smaller than a normal foal should be. Yet” – she turned towards me – “though he’s small and physically wanting, I want him to be strong in mind and spirit.”

Mid-mare nodded understandingly. Mother chuckled. Her chuckles echoed in my ears as I slowly opened my eyes, taking a first glance around the new world.

I became scared. Where was I? Why was it so cold? How was everything so bright now, when all I had been seeing was dark?

Then I met her eyes – big, lime green ones meeting her soft, ruby-red ones. They were kind. They were loving. They reached out towards me. And in response, my heart lurched to meet those two kind eyes. It clicked. At once, I knew that this mare would love and protect me. Whoever she was, I was safe with her.

Relieved of my initial fear, I stretched out two scrawny limbs to meet Mother’s nose, successfully booping her. Her two eyes sparkled with delight, and she booped me back, both of us giggling all the way. It soon devolved into a booping fest, both of us exchanging blows to our noses and seeing who would outdo the other.

Mid-mare spoke something, and Mother stopped our little game. I did not understand anything that they said of course, as I was yet to be gifted with speech, but I didn’t want to stop playing. I turned to Mother, pleading with my eyes to continue booping me, but she didn’t comply. Instead, she balanced me on one hoof, while with the other she began fumbling with her clothes.

I became upset. Why didn’t she want to play?

I whimpered, then sniffled, and then cried. Mother cooed, whispering softly, all the while pulling at her clothes. Of course, I did not understand anything she was whispering, so I continued crying, harder and louder.

I felt movement. I was being lowered. Then pushed into something. Something soft and fleshy. It crashed into my nose, before chaotically maneuvering over to my mouth, still wide open from my bawling.

Something sweet and sticky kissed the tip of my tongue. I had never known taste before, but whatever this was, it was…good.

I stopped crying, suddenly more interested in this sweet thing than with booping Mother. I wanted to try it again. I opened my eyes, still clouded with tears, and saw a piece of protruding flesh. I bit on it, feeling that it was the right thing to do, and sure enough, like an open tap, the sweet thing filled my mouth. I swallowed it heartily, earnestly suckling on the piece of flesh for more. Mother chuckled at how intensely I was nursing, although occasionally grunting when I bit too hard.

“Nurse him at least twice a day,” instructed Mid-mare. “Only feed him rice when he reaches two years, and make sure that it is watery; solid rice can come when he is three.” Mother nodded with a smile.

“Thanks, Mid-mare.”

“Oh please, it’s nothing. I helped your mother deliver you; it’s only right that I help you in turn, hm?” answered Mid-mare with a shrug.

I finished nursing. Mother brought me up to her face and gently nuzzled me. I responded with another little boop on her cheeks, causing her to giggle softly. My desire for milk satiated, I curled myself into a little ball and eased into her cradling hoofs, the first strokes of sleep caressing me into a deep, dreamless slumber.

***

I do not remember waking up. I was aware that I was not asleep anymore though.

Everything was still blurry – patches of bright orange twinkled like stars in the night sky, and shadows lurked in the deep corners of my vision. It was hot too; I likened the heat to an overload of love, because I felt that Mother’s love was warm. I wondered if she was hugging me too much.

Shapes began to form. In particular, a reddish-black glob caught my attention. I rolled over to the side, fixing a fiercely curious gaze on the shifting, palpitating thing floating in front of me. It rolled, danced, and hopped up high into the air, before dissolving into a fixed shape and size.

My vision cleared. I was laying on something soft, cradled within a pair of hoofs. Mother’s lap. To her side was a small candle, a flickering orange flame atop its melting head. And directly in front of me was a small, red-black clay bowl, set there not more than a second ago by somepony else; Mid-mare likely.

It looked rather cute, I felt. It was small, unevenly curved, and was a little chipped on its edge. The candlelight danced freely on the black external surface, uninhibited by the ominous color. It was the only source of light in the room; no wonder shadows lurked in the corners of my vision.

The bowl was attractive. It held a certain luster that I couldn't describe. Maybe…maybe if I could just touch it…

I tried pushing Mother’s hoofs off of me. They were slack and heavy, and it was quite the battle to get them off, but I eventually won. Mother was sleeping perhaps, else I would not have escaped her tight grasp.

I landed on the floor, crumpling like a heap of cloth because I had yet to be gifted with the ability to stand. It didn't matter. With natural ease I stretched my forehoofs, planted them into the floor, and pulled hard. I felt movement. The bowl came an inch closer to me; or rather, I came an inch closer to the bowl. I repeated the process again and again, ignoring the itch of the rough floor grazing my barrel.

I heard a little chink. Ears perking sharply, I looked up, bonking into something hard, and something black.

It was the bowl. Triumph bubbled inside me. I had reached the bowl! Pushing myself up, I collapsed on my butt and sat upright, resting my front hoofs on the small crockery. It felt smooth on the outside, but bumpy on the inside, with little grooves circling the inner surface. I ran a scrawny hoof over the grooves, giggling with delight at how satisfying it felt. This I did for a long time; for how long I don’t know really.

I decided that from then on this bowl was mine, and mine only, giving it a small but earnest hug to stamp my possession upon it. I would love and protect this bowl, just as Mother would love and protect me.

Thus I made my first friend – a small, red and black clay bowl. Heh.