"Have you ever heard those mountains yawn?"
Braeburn was asked that question in a bar in the quaint town of Gumweed Gorge, a township that shared all too much with his home of Appleloosa, standing stalwartly amid the dust and rubble of a barren desert. Life moves slowly and quietly here, as evidenced by the looks of awe and wonder that met him when he came strutting in no more than a day ago. Truly, there were some parts of the town that fit that old-timey aesthetic, left untouched still by the slow, creeping growth of urbanization, though he knew very well they would vanish within a decade or so. Everything has its time, after all. It's just a matter of when.
"Well? Have you?"
"Can't say that I have," he replied, stifling a chuckle with a swirl of his whisky glass. "That's news to me though."
"A yawning mountain? Didn't you say you've seen a glowing tiger before?"
"I think I saw one. Doesn't mean it was real. Never underestimate the power of a good drink when you have one." That had been a wild night too, according to the policemare that guarded his holding cell. "I'm thinking it was a neon sign of one, at least. Not many normal tigers in Vanhoover to begin with."
"Then you'll be glad to know that that mountain right there? Perfectly real. Yawns by sundown without fail, no question."
"You seem pretty sure of that, Miss..." he squinted his eyes at the gleaming nametag. "...Miss Cottontop."
Cottontop was a somewhat surreal name. The name of this lovely mare sitting across him with ethereal eyes of emerald and mane blazing black with highlights of vivid violet; the name of the waitress from the local diner that kindly served him a cup of coffee this afternoon and had been beaming joyfully in their ensuing conversation, all the while staring out longingly at the line where the earth swallows the sun; the name of the mare seated alone in a corner when he walked into this rusted, downtrodden bar in the corner of town. Cottontop was a wild mare among the herd of aging stallions, waiting for the right moment to burst free into a gallop underneath the stars.
Most importantly, Cottontop was someone he never knew he needed to know so badly in his life.
"I'm serious! I can show it to you if you want to!"
Braeburn's gaze yanked away from the gentle grasp of those graceful green eyes and to the distant mountains casting their shadows away from the sun. "Seems like quite a gallop from here."
"Good," she said crisply, starting into his whiskey glass. "The further we are from this place, the better."
A flustered sigh. "You really want to come along with me that badly?"
"Of course."
"And no one's gonna miss you this side of town?"
"They want me gone anyway." Her stare hardened, warily darting about. "I'm telling you, me leaving this place for good would be mutually beneficial."
"For whom?"
"Myself and the folks around town."
Braeburn chewed his lips. "Parents?"
"Buried them two summers ago."
"Friends?"
"Hightailed the first chance they got."
"...potential partners?"
Cottontop coquettishly grinned. "No worries there, partner."
Wide-eyed, Braeburn could only cough, silently hoping that she missed the light blush on his cheeks. "Alright, alright." he cleared his throat, before finishing his drink and standing up, hoof clenching onto his Stetson. "S-So... here? Same place?"
"Counting on it. See you tomorrow."