we're the voice, we're the voice, we're the voice in your head Augh! Psychedelic’s ears turned back as his mind was filled with an anguished, echoing cry. Water dripped off his honey and white colored body, darkening its normally lighter hue. The cold seeped into his flesh and the different temperatures from what emanated from his body to what chill was in the atmosphere caused a soft whisper of steam to rise from his coat. His hair, an off-white cream, was stuck in thick strands to his neck, rump, and legs. Tangled in his mane was a bit of brown seaweed and its briny, salty smell was almost assaulting his nostrils. Try as he might, no matter which way he tossed his head, the bit of seaweed seemed stuck to him. It’s so freaking COLD. “Well this was your idea.” Psychedelic chided, for once the tables seeming to have turned as the voice complained of where life had taken them. It’s important that we see what we’re up against when it comes to these herd stallions. It’s important we know their homes when we decide who we’re going to fight. It’s important – “WOAH COOL!” Psychedelic suddenly yelped, effectively drowning out the voice’s sudden lecture. A group of fifteen to twenty seabirds were preoccupied on the beach just a short distance away. Psychedelic, unaware of the danger he was in by practically invading a herd stallion’s home, only had one thing on his mind. With an excited, “YAHOOOO!”, the stallion kicked up his heels and charged forward. His thundering hooves caused the birds to give loud, disrupted squawks that made his ears turn back as they all scattered in a panic, stirring the air around him. “Hahahahaha!” He giggled with a gleam in his eye, spinning and kicking around in the wet, cold sand. And still, in spite of all this ruckus he was causing, that dang piece of seaweed still clung for dear life amidst his tangled, wet, frizzy hair. WE'RE THE TRASH IN YOUR BED |