Wildflowers

All I heard was her high-pitched whinny in the distance, telling me to get as far away from the herd as I could. But once the footsteps got noticeably closer, I knew I had to run, leave my herd, my home, my mother. I was only a few days old, but my mother taught me as much as she could. She always said never to leave the safety of the herd, but those rules didn't matter any longer.

"Wait, what was that?" I thought. Something behind me brushed against a loose oak branch. Everything soon became quiet again, and as quickly as it had come, the faster it disappeared.

"Maybe, I'm safe now." And as I snorted a sigh of relief, I heard a bird sing in the background. I cautiously stepped over to a small pond in the west side of the meadow. The cool, comforting water felt good on my parched, whiskery muzzle.

After getting a drink and cooling off a bit, I decided it was time to keep moving in the opposite direction from which I had come. Off in the distance I could see the start of the tall hills, which my mother had described to me as "mountains." She said that in the early morning, when the big circle would rise in the sky, and the mist would settle over the very tops of the mountains, that they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. If only she were here. I had to leave her when the stranger a top a "tamed" horse came after our herd with a long skinny, stick-like object. The stick was like a death grip, once you were in its wrath, there was no escaping it.

A few steps away from the pond, I saw footprints. They looked of the human type, long and oval. I contemplated going back, but the prints looked old, so I assumed whatever was here had left by now. Soon though, exhaustion overcame my weak and fragile body, I had to stop for a while, until I got my strength back. I looked over underneath a canopy of old willow trees and found a bed of dead grass. It seemed comfortable enough, so I collapsed on the grass and drifted off to sleep.