Rest in Peace; Just Don't Leave Me [OPEN]
May 27, 2008 22:54:00 GMT -5
Post by Swede on May 27, 2008 22:54:00 GMT -5
Cougar nodded quietly in the pre-dawn atmosphere. It was still dusky dark, and a slight chill pervaded the air. But the mule did not feel it. He was made of tougher stuff than that; and yet, something had penetrated his armor, and brought him down from the inside. And this was not something he could ever hope to be rid of; thus, he accepted it, with great sadness, but there was nothing to be done.
At his feet lay a smallish horse. He was a three year old stallion by now, but no one would ever have guessed it from the pinto's gangly stature. he was perpetually shaking with fear; even in his dreams, terror haunted him. Cougar could only hope that Cochise would one day leave his fear behind; but there was nothing the mule could do for him.
With a sigh, he turned away. His weary feet took him some distance away, where they suddenly gave out. Lying down now on his side in the dewy grass, he sighed wearily and closed his eyes.
Cochise awoke with a start just before dawn. The missing presence of his friend an protector startled him greatly, and he was up in moment. Quite distraught, he trotted nervously across the meadows. "Cougar? Cougar, where d-d-did you g-go?" The lump of brown in the distance caught his eye.
The colt could only stare. At last, he stammered,"C-Cougar, what's w-wrong? Get up, p-please." The mule cracked an eye open. "Hey kid," he said, his gruff voice so soft and weak, "I'm sorry."
"W-what do you mean?" said the panicked colt. Realization hit him quickly. "No! No, you can't! Stay, fight for it! Please!" In his distress, he stopped stammering.
The mule sighed. "I've been fightin' for over a year. It's time I took a break. Take care, kid. Don' worry about me, now. Ye'll be fine. Stand up for yerself." He smiled. "I'll see ye in twenty years."
And the mule died.
At first, Cochise was desperately nudging the old one, tears streaming from his face. And then, gradually, he slowed. Cougar's face looked so peaceful, almost happy. It frightened the colt. And then, full realization struck him: Cougar was gone. Cochise was alone. This shortened his expected lifespan to about a month, providing luck was on his side. He slumped his shoulders and cried.
At his feet lay a smallish horse. He was a three year old stallion by now, but no one would ever have guessed it from the pinto's gangly stature. he was perpetually shaking with fear; even in his dreams, terror haunted him. Cougar could only hope that Cochise would one day leave his fear behind; but there was nothing the mule could do for him.
With a sigh, he turned away. His weary feet took him some distance away, where they suddenly gave out. Lying down now on his side in the dewy grass, he sighed wearily and closed his eyes.
Cochise awoke with a start just before dawn. The missing presence of his friend an protector startled him greatly, and he was up in moment. Quite distraught, he trotted nervously across the meadows. "Cougar? Cougar, where d-d-did you g-go?" The lump of brown in the distance caught his eye.
The colt could only stare. At last, he stammered,"C-Cougar, what's w-wrong? Get up, p-please." The mule cracked an eye open. "Hey kid," he said, his gruff voice so soft and weak, "I'm sorry."
"W-what do you mean?" said the panicked colt. Realization hit him quickly. "No! No, you can't! Stay, fight for it! Please!" In his distress, he stopped stammering.
The mule sighed. "I've been fightin' for over a year. It's time I took a break. Take care, kid. Don' worry about me, now. Ye'll be fine. Stand up for yerself." He smiled. "I'll see ye in twenty years."
And the mule died.
At first, Cochise was desperately nudging the old one, tears streaming from his face. And then, gradually, he slowed. Cougar's face looked so peaceful, almost happy. It frightened the colt. And then, full realization struck him: Cougar was gone. Cochise was alone. This shortened his expected lifespan to about a month, providing luck was on his side. He slumped his shoulders and cried.
