Hunger had always been a constant companion from the day she was born. Her ribs were visible beneath her beige coat and the point of her hip protruded slightly through her skin. These were remnants of her mother’s neglectful treatment towards her when she had been a newborn babe. Even though Magika had been independent since Witche abandoned her, it had always been difficult to find enough food in the Desert to put some fat onto her bones. It’s not like a gentle breeze would knock her off her hooves but she was definitely underweight for her age. The grass here was so moist and sweet. Magika had never tasted anything like this before. The stems at home were always dry and tough to chew through. For the first time in her life she would finally know what it was like to go to bed with a full stomach. Suddenly her grazing was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. Whipping her head back to full height the yearling filly stared at him, a chunk of grass comically sticking out of the corners of her mouth. How did she not hear him coming? Was she that distracted by her food? Now she felt stupid and embarrassed. At first she blinked at the innocent colt like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Then he made a comment about grass at home. Swallowing the last of her half-chewed food she then said in a rather sarcastic tone, “You’ve never been to Salem, have you?” The moment the words left her lips she regretted them. She had never had a friend before even though she had desperately wanted one. Now she has an opportunity to make one and she talks to them like a snarky bitch. “Sorry,” she smiles a little sheepishly as she apologizes, “My name’s Magika, what’s yours?” |