You wake up, startled by the crow of the rooster. You're unsure of how it manages to surprise you each and every morning, perhaps it is the herbivore inside of you. Evolution seems to have passed down traits of hyper vigilance so as to protect you from potential predators. You sigh, supposing that you're timidity can't be helped.
As the wariness of sleep fades away, you begin to stretch your legs. Your aching joints crackle with each step as you move. You wince at one particularly painful crack, but thankfully the pain is incredibly finite, and it disappears after a few moments. You sigh yet again, supposing it's the price you pay for sleeping in the standing position, another trait regretfully passed down by your ancestors.
You look around, turning your head from side to side, observing the other members of your species as they stir in drunken sleepiness. You bend your head down and feast upon the grass, quelling the great hunger that has assaulted you now that your mind is clear. The grass is bland, and tasteless, but it sustains you, and is therefore worth the tediousness of munching away at flavorless mush.
Your ears perk, and you stop eating your morning meal as the sound of whinnying reaches you. You turn to see the noisemaker running towards a metal device that your owners had once galled "gate" and you pray that he isn't trying to escape. You've been here the longest, and you've seen what happens to the young ones when they try to break off into the wild.
The rapid thuds of his hooves hitting the dirt confirms your fears, and the juvenile takes a running leap, jumping at the gate. He soars, high into the air, as though his life depended on it. Now that he has leapt, it certainly does.
The young one does not make it. His front half sails over the top with great ease, but as always, the back legs crash into the gate, knees cracking from the great impact. The poor thing cries out in pain as it tumbles to the ground, landing with a thud on its side. Almost out of nowhere, one of the owners comes out to see one of his prized thoroughbreds lying in a small puddle of blood and splintered bones. He swears under his breath.
"Go get the gun,"he screams to his associate. The other one runs into a small house that you've come to understand is a shed. He returns with the dreaded gun, running over to his friend who is currently stroking the muzzle of his prized horse. The man raises the gun to the side of the horse's head, and you immediately shut your eyes. You never could watch this part.
The loud bang resonates across the ranch, and you open. Your eyes open once more, and you are greeted with the unsettling sight of a bloodied corpse being dragged away by the two men. You stare forlornly at them for quite some time before returning to your breakfast. The sight of the mangled corpse still flourishes in your mind, but you push it away after a few minutes. You may not enjoy death, but you've lived long enough to accept it as a part of life. Why the young ones try to escape, you never could guess. Maybe it was their young, wild spirit. They were never mistreated, they were fed well, and still, they tried to break out into the world.
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After awhile the others seem to have pushed their dead friend out of their minds, and now you stand in the shade, watching them race each other. Every inch of your body yearns for you to gallop with them, but although you are of sound mind, your body is far too old. You long to feel the rush of wind through your sleek, brown coat, but alas, those days are over.
With age, your body has worn down considerably. Your joints are aching almost constantly, and your coat is littered with grey. It's really quite astonishing that your owners haven't sent you the way of the others who outlived their usefulness. You suspect that maybe the humans just like you, but that's only a slight possibility. Regardless, you are still alive, and quite grateful for it. The tranquility, the peace of the mountains. It never gets old.
You jump slightly as you feel a warm hand on your snout. It seems that the humans saw it fit to sneak up on you during your daydreaming session. It also appears that your senses have dulled over time, because in the old days, you'd have seen them coming from a mile away.
They seem to want you to come with them, and that suits you just fine. Even if you're old, its still nice to get out once in a while, and you're positive they won't have you running. You follow them through the gate, over to a carriage. One of the men strokes your head as the other places a bit in your mouth. You hear them scrambling behind you, and you know from experience that they're getting into the cart.
At first thought, it seems odd that they would choose the oldest and slowest horse for the job. Either they haven't trained the other horses yet, or you're transporting delicate cargo. The latter is the choice you pick, and now you get to feel more important.
You hear a loud "HYA" and feel the reigns shake the bit. It isn't painful, but it's jarring enough to get you to move. You begin a slow walk, stretching your stiff, old muscles and joints. As you go towards a small, dug out trail, your mind wanders yet again. Where are the humans taking you. Every so often they force you left or right, but for the most part you just go forward.
The walking so far has been slow and tedious, but as with any form of physical activity, it eventually gets to you, and your endurance wavers. The human who guides you seems to be aware of this, most likely he was alerted of your fatigue by the loud panting you had begun. He calls for a stop, and you greatfuly comply. You hear the man jump down from his rest, as well as the soft sound of his footsteps around you.
You hear the man rustling through something, most probably a bag, or maybe the carriage itself. You wish you didn't have to wear these blinders, but it seems to be uniform among all other horses. The horses you passed back when you were more frequently used to draw the carriage seemed to have the same opinion, but there wasn't much they could do about it, what with the hooves and all.
The human comes seemingly out of nowhere, stepping in front of you. You sigh again, you must've spaced out. That seems to happen a lot nowadays. Oh well, that thought is quickly dismissed, as the human holds out a large cylindrical object. You don't care what it is though, what matters right now is the cool liquid it contains. You thrust your muzzle into it, sending a good portion of water sailing onto the man in front of you. He laughs, probably greatful to be cooled off, and you drink the water in great haste, lavishing in the cool sensation dominating your gullet.
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You estimate that it's been a few hours of walking now, and your efforts have brought you to a winding path with a rather steep drop next to it. It's not to far a drop, but should you fall, both you and your owners will be lost in the thick brush that waits hungrily below.
You feel a small, cold sensation suddenly begin to litter your coat. That, combined with the splashes around you, as well as the obvious visual stimulus, tells you that it's raining. You hear the humans swear behind you. They didn't bring those yellow rubber coats, which is just a tad funny to you. Honestly though, you could care less, the rain is a welcome coolant to your rapidly heating body.
It's been raining very heavily for a while now. It's no longer just rain, it's a torrential downpour. The wind has made this a full blown storm, and your blinders have been gone for a while now, blown away by the fierce gusts that assault your face.
Visibility is low, and ironically it's harder to see now than it was with the blinders. The once hard, dirt path has become a slippery, mud-laden death trap. With your sight now defunct, the only thing you have guiding you is the humans, both of which you can barely hear. The only comforting feeling you have now is the feel of your hooves hitting the ground, which is slowly turning into a precarious endeavor that has you feeling nervous. The slippery trail, the unstable wagon, your own old age, all of these wear on your mind as you slowly progress.
Still, you move forward, going with the feel of the reigns. The conditions aren't ideal, but that never stopped you in the past. You continue to put your hooves forward until, nothing. Nothing is under your right hoof anymore. You don't know how it happened, you were following all of the human's instructions to a T. As it stands however, you are currently tumbling head over hooves. The carriage falling faster than you, dragging you helpless, to the bottom of the mountainside.
As you fall, the carriage flips, and the humans driving it fly out as you soar over it. The reins and the guiding rail snap, and you reach the bottom of the hill alive, but heavily hurt. Then the carriage reaches you.
By now it's been reduced to little more than splinters, but many of them are sharpened, and they impale you in their descent. A large chunk of the carriage lands on your leg, and you hear loud splintering sounds as both the carriage piece, and your bones are crushed into gravel.
The rush of the fall had managed to stave off the pain during the fall, but now that it's over, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. Your legs ache like never before, and your back and sides feel as though their about to implode.
The real problem lies in your head. There aren't enough words to describe the pain you feel. It's unbearable, but not surprising. You are bleeding from your right eye, and although the trees block the rain to some degree, your vision has still been heavily impaired.
You can feel your mind begin to fade. You're certain that death is embracing you. It's okay, you're an old steed anyway. You've lived plenty.
As your world turns to darkness, the ironic serenity of your surroundings becomes apparent. The birds still chirp, ever calm. There's a small creek near you, and the rushing water is very soothing. Truly this is a beautiful place to die. Slowly, your world shifts into complete darkness. Not even the red tint of your blood is visible anymore. Your mind shuts down.
Everything is black.
You wake up. Wait, you wake up? How, and why? Death was assured, you felt your life drain. Your breathing had ceased along with your heartbeat. Well, you're alive, not that you're particularly disappointed.
You slowly rise to your legs, only to find that none of the injuries that you had harbored before your demise, are anywhere upon your body. The soreness, the great pain, it's all gone.
You're still in a forest, that much is the same, but this forest is different somehow. The canopy above you is far thicker, and everything is cast in shadows. There is plant life everywhere, most of it barely distinguishable with the vast darkness that surrounds you.
Deciding that standing around won't exactly accomplish anything, you move forward, unsure of your direction, but determined to at least go somewhere. You slowly walk through the dense brush, passing various small critters. They all flee at the sight of you, intimidated by your size.
The trees that surround you are slowly getting thicker, and it's becoming a chore to not trip on a stray root. A wall of vines blocks your path. There is a small gap in the wall, and you see a yellow light coming through it. You search for a way around, and not finding one, you push through, using all of your strength.
The vines stretch, snapping one at a time, each producing a loud crack as it split in half from your youthful strength.
As you break through the dense brush, you come across a large clearing, where beams of light danced along the circular patch of grass, as the flowers that littered the area beamed, happy with the abundance of solar energy.
You feel an immense rumbling in your stomach, and decide to stop and graze for a bit. Bending your neck down, you take a bite of the foreign grass. You reel back in surprise, it's absolutely delicious. A magical mixture of all your favorite flavors. You whinny in delight and continue to munch on the fantastic feast.
Once you've completed your meal, you take a moment to bask in the warm sun. It's calming, the mild heat dances along your brown coat.
Your ears perk as you hear a rustling in the brush behind you. Immediately you stand, taking a defensive position. The air is once again calm, but you are very tense. Your ears detect no sounds, other than the usual chirping birds. Still, you know that something is there. You can smell it. Something in the air is bringing you to full alert.
The smell itself isn't unpleasant in any way. Sort of a maple odor, but there's something indistinguishable behind it, and your instincts tell you it isn't good.
You decide that it's probably best for you to move on, and you run off into the brush. Cursing your instinct driven form, you continue to gallop through the forest at blinding speeds.
Looking up, you notice that the sun is beginning to set. Luckily enough, there's a nearby cave, and you enter.
The innards of the cave are layered with stalagmites and stalactites alike.
It's rather beautiful, with the dampness of the cave creating a sheen on all of the walls. You lay down, hoping to rest your sore fetlocks. As you lie, the sweet embrace of sleep consumes you.
You're awakened by a loud growling sound. It's your stomach. Getting up, you slowly trot out of the cave and into the forest, hoping to graze a bit more. The delicious grass fills you quickly, and your breakfast is soon finished.
It's been three days since you arrived in this strange forest. During your time here you've kept a low profile, only really leaving to eat. Each time you leave the cave, that maple scent follows you, making you quite anxious. Today though the scent is gone. You're comforted by this, as the prevalent danger had been keeping you on edge.
Without the constant feeling of being followed, you bravely head off towards a small pond that you'd found a few days ago. Pushing through the brush, you find the small body of water, running in with reckless abandon. As you prance around in the small pond, you take the opportunity to enjoy your newfound youth.
You run around in figure eights, relishing in the immense amount of fun. The cooling water constantly peppers your coat. It feels amazing. The intense chill of the water cools you as you gallop through the pond, splashing about without worry.
You whinny in delight as schools of small fish brush against your legs. Finally, you plop down in the water, panting from all of the physical activity. Taking advantage of your position, you bend your neck down to the water and take a long swig. The pond is ice cold, and you enjoy the harsh chill as it slides down the back of your throat. You can even feel the icy water in your very stomach, an experience that you find quite pleasant.
Your racing heart slows to a crawl as you rest in the tranquil little pond. There is often times a lot of howling, growling, and prowling at night, and over that past few days, it has worn on your mind. Now there is only peace, as you gaze up at the sky, enjoying the clouds as the sun shines through them, creating heavenly rays of light that cascade about the rest of the forrest. This pond is quite high up, and it gives you an immaculate view of the dense forest.
The calming song of the surrounding birds only adds to the majesty of the situation. Small animals are scurrying about, enjoying the time away from the nocturnal predators that prowl the forests at dusk. Now, only the bare minimum of hunters stalks the land. You know through your animalistic instinct that the chattering of the small animals, as well as your acute sense of smell will warn you if any day hunters approach.
For now, the ambience around you is the only thing in sight, and it is a very pleasant view. You get up and play some more, splashing about with new energy as the resting period you had earlier comes to an end. Running out of the pond, you head off a bit further into the forest, brazened by your ever increasing familiarity with the surrounding timberlands.
As you gallop, you come across another clearing. This one is filled with blooming, pink daisies. They sparkle and shine in the sunlight, radiating rays of resplendence. Your stomach rumbles. All of that playing sure worked up an appetite. Well, if the forest's grass tastes amazing, surely the flowers can't be bad.
You bend down and take another bite. It's incredible. Somehow these flowers mange to be both sweet and spicy. Upon closer inspection, the daisies have wavy streaks of red on each petal. A gust of wind passes through the clearing, and the pollen of the flowers is picked up in the gentle breeze. The pollen sparkles like glitter as it reflects the abundant sunlight. It's almost magical, the pollen that surrounds you. Some of it manages to find its way into your nose and eyes, and you find yourself sneezing.
For some reason you feel drowsy, is it the pollen? You don't know, but it is a possibility. You stumble around in the clearing, your vision becoming blurred and hazy. The area that surrounds you is spinning, and your eyes begin to close. They feel heavy, like they're weighing you down. Your eyes shut, your balance weakens, and you fall, listlessly to your side, and sleep overtakes you.
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You awaken once more, with a great sense of urgency. That scent is back, and now it is dusk. You quickly bolt up and gallop away from the daisies. You need to run, to get back to your cave. As you quickly sprint out of the clearing, you notice multiple pairs of glowing eyes. They're following you, easily keeping up with your incredible speed. Adrenaline consumes your very being, fight or flight kicks in, and you can't see your enemy, so you must run.
You notice on your left that the eyes are getting closer, and you shift to the right. It's a minor detour, but it may just prove to be your end. You pump your legs faster, trying to gain as much speed as possible, to either outrun or tire your pursuers.
It works, and you slowly lose the glowing eyes that chase you.
You make it to your cave, never have you been so happy to have refuge. To have shelter. Finally you are allowed reprieve from the advancing horde of unseen monsters. At least the moon is bright enough to provide light. Without it, you'd have never seen your hunters' eyes, or your way home. As you approach your shelter, you flinch in fear.
That scent. That scent is back. But this time it's not coming from behind you. It's coming from the very cave in which you sought sanctuary. Ten pairs of angry, yellow eyes appear in the shadow of the cave's entrance. The owners of the eyes snarl and growl, inching closer to you with each passing second.
You turn to run, but your previous pursuers have caught up to you. All of the creatures move around you, blocking you with a circle formation. Each of them is dog-like in appearance, with razor-sharp claws and teeth, bared as they bark and howl in their supposed victory. They all appear to be made of wood, which explains the maple syrup scent. They drool tree sap in anticipation.
They want you as their next meal. You take a defensive stance. Flight is no longer an option. Fight will have to do.
The largest of the beasts howls, and three of them lunge forward, claws outstretched. You turn and kick the first two, shattering them into wooden splinters. The third however, has sunk its wooden claws deep into you flesh, and you buck and whinny, sending it flying off of you. The two splintered creatures, these, wolves, reassemble themselves as quickly as you took them apart. It's already apparent to you that this is an uphill battle, but the most basic drive in your very core doesn't care about odds, all it cares about is survival.
Four more timberwolves advance, along with the three who come back for a second round. This time you manage to shatter five of them, knocking them into each other with your powerful front and back legs, shattering them into pieces. But now, two timberwolves cling to your body by their claws and teeth.
You can feel the blood trickle down your coat, and you can feel their cold, dry, tongues as they lap up your life-liquid. As you try to buck off these two assailants, more and more wooden wolves close in for the kill, each time you manage to shatter some of them, crush them, or trample them, but each time, more and more of them cling to your coat, more and more of them bite your flesh, and more and more of them try to take you down.
One of the timberwolves bites your front knee. You nearly collapse, but you quickly regain your bearings and stomp its head into mush. More and more timberwolves bite at you, they know how strong, and how dangerous your legs are, and they don't want to waste energy reassembling themselves anymore, so the ones that aren't clinging to you focus on your legs. Eventually they cause too much damage to your flesh, and your legs give out. The remaining timberwolves leap onto you, clinging to you as well.
You're covered in timberwolves. All of them sinking their teeth deep into your body, trying to tear away strips of flesh as they snarl and writhe all over you. No matter how much you kick. No matter how much you shake off. No matter how many you manage to pound into dust.
More of them come. More of them tear into your flesh. More of them bleed.
It's an unwavering, unrelenting, merciless horde of hungry predators, and there's nothing you can do to stop them.
Author's Note
So many stories demonize the Everfree, calling it a horrifying land of many dangers. The Everfree may be dangerous, but I'm sure, like all forests, that it too is beautiful.
If there are any disgusting typos, please feel free to tell me about it. Yes, I got on the second-person train. No, I don't believe this will succeed.
At least it's not a hastily written second-person clopfic...oh well.
