he had not been a good father so far.
the battle with ruger had been a swift one. judas had failed.
he felt the shame like a stone in his stomach, a knot in his lungs that would not let him
breathe. it was a heavy thing to hold, and although every day it got heavier and heavier, he persevered in fear that he would be pressed beneath the weight of it. his wounds from the fight still felt just as fresh as the day that it happened. he had only wanted a home for dalia, for their child, so that she may lay and rest without worry. each day brought spring closer, and each day she grew weaker. his worry turned to restlessness, and he ventured further and further to find her food so that he may bring it back and keep her strength up.
what he had found on his search, instead, was a mare.
she was bright in the winter sun; the same color of clouds on a warm day, or the fresh petals of apple blossoms. but beside the beautiful color of her coat, he had first noticed the way her ribs stuck out of her skin. she was gaunt, and sharp, and already too delicate to not be eating on top of that. he nickered softly as he approached, so as not to frighten her with his presence before he got too close. her eyes were dull and sad, but they were the softest shade of blue. his voice was low and careful as he asked:
“are you alright, miss?”
"...speech"
six years. georgian grande mutt. silver grullo pintaloosa. seventeen hands. of nowhere.