Desert

Psychedelic turned his attention toward the mare who’d so haughtily interrupted the end of his tantrum. His eyes fell away from her proud, angry face to the swollen sides of her belly, then back up again. Some mare she was to come marching up at an angry stranger in her state.

And I’m not so sure I shouldn’t send such a senile old man back to the watery grave where he belongs. Unless you have something to offer beside a carcass for the vultures to pick clean.

His pride was going to have to take a moment to recover from having a pregnant mare look down her nose at him, call him an old man, and actually be right about it. Psychedelic opened his mouth and drew in a breath as though he meant to exhale and argue her point, but no words came out. He was just a crazy old man these days and, despite her current condition, Psychedelic was in no shape to get into a fight. He glanced beyond her, wondering how many others in her herd would come to beat the old man up if he laid one hoof on little blondie.

Salem has no use for the weak.

At that, he couldn’t help himself. Psychedelic snorted and rolled his eyes and barked out a raspy chuckle. “And I have no use for Salem. Listen, lady, if I could swim away from here I would. Never been too fond of this place or the horses who live here.” He grunted, glancing back behind her and remembering years when he’d been younger and the squealing and the crashing of flesh as he fought.

“Oh, no offense.” He added a moment later as his eyes drew back to her, though it was clear by tone alone that he didn’t care if he’d offended her or not.

“I’ll be gone as soon as I get some sleep, alright? I won’t come up the beach and disturb you and your happy family.” That was the kindest thing Psychedelic could currently promise anyone, considering he wasn’t much caring these days how much of a nuisance he was. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about the rage you pregnant mare’s can have. I’d rather not be on the wrong side of that again.”