Desert

A spray of expletives shot from his mouth forcefully, one after the other, forced into the air as if shot there. His head shook and he tried to throw what was essentially a tantrum but, with an injured right front leg, a streaked red cut on his painted neck and a bruised chest, it was almost laughable. He was hobbling and throwing his head and cursing, making a big scene of it all but not caring in the slightest. His angered rant came to a bellowed end with the words- “And of COURSE of all the fucking islands to wash up on, I somehow end up on SALEM, the worst fucking island out of all of them!”

As his voice died out in the stale air, Psychedelic came to a slow stand-still. His wet sides heaved up and down with the great breaths his lungs needed him to take; his right-front hoof barely touched it’s point to the sand, knowing if he bent his knee it would reopen the wound the saltwater had already stung.

Are you done yet?

“No.” He replied grumply, giving a forceful snap of his water-laden cream tail. It didn’t have the satisfactory flick he wanted it to have, too heavy to move as freely as it would if dry.

You couldn’t have actually expected to win.

He hadn’t. Not really. Psychedelic had known as an old geezer going up against a fit band stallion that it was one of the dumbest ideas he’d had in awhile. He hadn’t betted on winning unless he somehow pulled off a miracle, but losing still stung more than he was ready to admit to. Plus, of course the icing on the cake was leaving Paradise a disgraced, injured old loser and washing up on Salem.

Psychedelic had always hated Salem. It was hot in the day and cold at night. The water tasted weird and sulfurous. The horses here had never really liked him either. Then again, he hadn’t exactly made a case for himself there. How many fights had he had on behalf of the Lagoon on this very beach? How many times had he pressed under that very cover of darkness to try and steal a precious little mare away from her overprotective stallion?

Let’s get back in the ocean. We can make it to the Lagoon before it’s too late.

“Are you fucking crazy?” He asked incredulously, holding up his injured leg and giving a snort. “I’m not putting these wounds back in the saltwater and in case you forgot, we’re old as fuck. We can’t do that much swimming in one day.”

So… what are you saying?

“I’m saying…” He sighed and almost wanted to cry. “I’m saying we’re stuck here for the night.”