One, two, three.


Felony heaved himself up another stride, each one halfway made as a jump as his three good legs scaled the Peak’s rocky climb. The forth, hurt long ago and so arthritic now it could no longer bare weight. The aging stallion’s greying dark face was pulled into hateful lines made from fury. How dare the women of the Peak make him do this! His flanks, which had once been full with youth, now sunken and heaved with each wheezing breath, his ribs extending in scarred taunt flesh.


He was going to die here.


No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, did the loose stones shift beneath his one good front leg. With a grunt, his chest and face slammed into the mountainside, and he scrambled to try and recover. Hind hooves digging in, Felony only slid a little ways before he was able to stop himself. Pushing himself over onto his side, he rested there heaving for any scrap of air he could get. The rocks had cut his lip and scraped his chest and knees, but he only scowled at the rocks that still rolled further down knowing that could have been him instead.


Only halfway up, he wasn’t sure how he would make the rest of the climb.