Another minute passed. Or was it a year? If there was a difference between the two, the years of immobility and darkness had destroyed its meaning. Aspects of existence changed, but guessing how quickly was an excercise in futility. The most recent alteration was an uncomfortable pressure on his back, directly behind the final rib; with no way to confirm any of his theories, he had abandoned his attempt to discern the cause.

Immortality is only as good as the life it grants. For a stallion buried alive, there can be no worse gift. Except, of course, for seeing his family die every time he sleeps.

Originally intended as part of a longer story, but reduced to a one-shot.