It’s raining. The water droplets splash against the wet ground around your feet. In the distance you can hear thunder rolling through the skies. There is a mild breeze blowing through the thick canopy serving as a shelter from the worst of the weathers wrath.
You don’t mind the cold, wet clothes clinging to you. It’s not the most pleasant sensation, but you relish in the feeling of freedom that your walks through the wild woods give you. The forest is not far from your house, and every day for the last two years you’ve spent hours exploring and trekking through it. By now you know it as well as the back of your hand.
There’s a bright flash, and a thunderclap soon follows. The storm is getting closer, and the rain is only getting heavier. You decide that it might be a good idea to head home before the ground gets too muddy.
The rain wasn’t really a surprise, but you had still neglected to dress in anything but a hooded sweater, jeans and hiking boots. It will probably take you an hour or so to get back to the house, if you are lucky you might not catch a cold.
You walk at a brisk pace on the path you’ve made yourself. It is becoming quite muddy, and you find yourself slipping, barely managing to keep upright as you flail around for balance. The rocks are probably going to be slippery as hell, better keep an eye on the ground.
The path leads you by a small stream. Over the years it has dug itself quite deeply into the soft ground, leaving short, but steep slopes on each side. Another bright flash startles you, and the boom of thunder follows immediately. The ground beneath your foot slips, and you fall over the edge with a yelp.
You slide down the short muddy slope, wincing as the rocks bump your back, arms and legs. That’s going to hurt in the morning. You barely manage to stop yourself before you fall into the stream itself. It’s not very deep, or rapid, but this time of year it’s not going to be very comfortable for bathing, and the rain has already began to settle into your clothes with a chill.
A blink, followed by a loud boom shakes the ground, something cries out in fear. It doesn’t sound like a wolf, even though you know they tend to roam the woods, they’ve kept their distance before, but you still carry a repellent spray just in case. You lower the hood and try to listen for more sounds, but the woods are silent except from the rain and the clucking of the stream.
Something lets out a loud wail. It’s heartbreaking and more than a little eerie as it echoes through the empty woods. It came from close by, and your curiosity pulls you towards the sound that has degraded to loud sobs. There’s another sound, a soft cooing, as if something else is trying to calm down the other.
There’s a large hollow log lying across the streambed, it’s large enough to provide some cover from the rain, but it hides the source of the sounds. A twig breaks under your foot, and the sounds cut out abruptly, followed by complete silence.
A small muffled whine comes from behind the log. “Hello?” You say loud enough to be heard over the wind and rain, but soft enough not to appear threatening. The only sound you get in return is that of something struggling, a louder whine, before silence falls yet again.
You carefully move towards the log, making sure to step softly to not scare whatever lay within. “I’m not here to hurt you.” You promise, putting a hand on the edge of the log to steady yourself as you step around the slightly jagged edge. With a wince you notice that there’s a little blood on the wood, it’s not a lot, but with a slight shock you notice that there’s a thin trail leading into the damp darkness.
Your eyes follow the trail of blood, noticing that it stops against a white surface. There’s feathers lying across the white surface, no, not feathers, wings. The thought of wild chickens cross your mind, but you quickly discard it as the small white bundle shivers. There, below the wing lies another form, a smaller blue form, almost invisible in the low light of dusk.
A small worried frown form on your face as you notice the slowly growing pool of red liquid forming beneath the white bundle of feathers and fur. You lower yourself down on the damp inside of the log, making yourself smaller and less threatening.
The blue bundle sprouts a head, it’s a small foal, it looks at you cautiously, and the low light coming into the log makes them shine. You can see that they are heavy with worry, and the foal lets out a low afraid whine before nudging the larger white form that is now lying unresponsive on the wood in front of her. The foal looks at you again, this time almost begging.
You crawl on all fours towards the two small forms, the blue foal keeping a wary eye on you yet not leaving the other foal. “It’s all right, it’s all going to be fine.” you murmur soothingly as you get closer.
The small blue foals eyes widen as your hand reach out towards them, and she gets to her feet shakingly. You see small wings on her sides, and there’s a nub of a horn on her forehead. She looks at you nervously, her small wings fluffing themselves up on her sides, making her look a bit larger.
You can’t help but smile a little at the adorable little filly standing stalwartly over the slightly larger white filly. Both their coats are matted with dirt, and their manes look disheveled and are full of twigs.
You stretch your hand out further, holding it in the air before the small blue filly. She eyes it suspiciously, but her head moves forward, her small nostrils smelling the air, trying to find any hint of treachery. You bridge the small gap, bringing your hand close to her muzzle. The filly flinch backwards a bit, but quickly gather her courage and press her muzzle into your hand before whinnying and nudging the white filly once more. You remember that she’s bleeding and bend over, gently stroking the sides of the small horse, or whatever they are.
The white filly’s coat is matted with mud and sweat, she feels feverish under your touch, but you can feel the slow rise and fall of her chest. You inspect her body in the low light, but you can’t see much, as your body is blocking most of the light coming into the large log. Outside the thunder booms yet again, and the blue filly cowers into a small ball.
You notice a large gash on the outside of the small filly’s right hind leg. It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding profusely. With a sharp tug, you rip one of the sleeves of your sweater off, you turn it inside out and bind it around the wound before taking your sweater completely off. You wrap the filly in the wet garment and make a makeshift sling to carry her in.
The small blue filly uncurls and looks up at you with fear etched in her features. She looks around frantically for what must be her sister, whinnying in fear before she spots the pink mane hanging out of the sweater.
“I have to get her out of here.” you murmur softly to the worried filly now rubbing herself up against the bundle in our arms. You run a hand down the side of the blue filly, and she presses herself into it, seeking the warmth of your skin.
Painstakingly slow you make your way out of the log, the blue filly warily following behind. Carefully you lower yourself to the ground, the rain hasn’t let up, and the wind is getting stronger. Another flash and boom almost send the blue filly scurrying back into the log, but you manage to grab hold of her and lift her up and hug her shivering form to your body. The young filly is no larger than a house cat, and weights next to nothing. She presses herself into you, shaking and squeezing her eyes shut in fear.
With the two fillies in your arms you make your way home through the thunderstorm.