Meadow

Skin stretched taught over her comically swollen midsection, Psychedelic knew she couldn’t be an answer to his desire for visionary hallucinations. He’d have never her envisioned her laden with the product of their evening spent together. Initially upon seeing her there with her body rigid and still, like a doe started by the hunter in the meadow, he felt guilt. Shame. Worry. But the moment was fleeting and his ears flicked back, eyes narrowing almost immediately thereafter.

He was so damn tired of feeling things. When had he become so soft anyways? Where was the younger, manic stallion who could attack a mare with savagery and only laugh about it the next day? And of course he’d knocked her up from their little tryst! What luck! As if he wanted another thing that might try and wiggle its way to his heart the way Talya had just so he could feel the kick-in-the-chest losing them was. Screw that! If Psychedelic had his say he’d never feel anything for anyone ever again.

With his tail cracking loud and sharp against his haunches in agitation, Psychedelic moved toward her. If he was lucky her blindness would be so affected now she wouldn’t see the dark stains of tears on his cheeks or the bloodshot white of his eyes turned red. The effect of his sorrows would be lost, leaving him to be as mean to her as he liked just to feel better about himself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was low and filled to the brim with rage he didn’t feel for her, but for the situation he was now in. “Why the hell aren’t you back in the Forest?”

Fear struck him sharp in his chest and he stopped short – still just out of reach of touching her. Psychedelic blinked, staring at her face. Shock returned to anger. His ears turned back and his head lowered, eyes gleaming as they pinned her sweet, frightened little face. “Did you tell Persephone what happened?”