Little (Reddit-word) had to experience the rain for the first time all by itself. It was asleep when the first droplets started to fall into the small alcove it had found behind trash bags. The foal was not roused wake until it was thoroughly damp, but when its eyes did open, it shrieked. It shrieked and bolted. It did not get very far to begin with, bouncing off of the enclosing bags with varying degrees of pain, depending on what was inside them. In time, it found the way that it entered, and the foal fled panting down the hall of structures until it found a dry haven.
Little (Reddit-word) was tucked against the wall of one of the buildings lining the alley. Its roof extended a little ways as a shingled overhang that water flowed down as sheets before crashing onto the pavement. It was so scary, but at least there was a strip of lightly colored, dusted concrete for the foal to lie down on! The tiny thing was certain that stepping out from this tenuous shelter would spell its doom.
That was before it noticed that the water dripping out of its fluff and accumulating on the ground around it was discolored, contrasting with the untouched pavement. The water was dirty! Little (Reddit-word) investigated itself and observed dirty streaks marking the path the water had taken. The water was cleaning its fluff! It was an incredible revelation to behold. One that left the orphan foal with a difficult decision to make.
Most stray and feral fluffies despised the cold and cloudy days as periods of duress and hunkered down in their holes, which often led to drowning due to water’s tendency to flow down slopes. The orphaned foal did not have the luxury of reeling away from the falling droplets, though. Without a family to care for and clean it, the foal figured that the only way to get clean and smell “pretty” again was to have the rain wash it. Little (Reddit-word) could handle the licking part for drying, but somehow all the encrusted feces, dirt, and whatever else was stuck to its fur had to be removed. It definitely did not want to undertake that burden on its own, understandably.
The orphan had to consign itself to a bath, it knew without fully knowing. Domestic fluffies balked and resisted this staple of their easy lives. This fluffy was in critical need of one, for the sake of its declining health. But how to go about this, it wondered. Meaning that it was babbling to itself. “How Widdow Fabbo ged wawa-cweanies wiffout wowstest huwties? Huu huu, nu wan wawa, but Widdow Fabbo nee’! Nee’ wawa-cweanies! Nu smeww pwetty! Buh’ wawa am cowd and scawy!”
The water splashing down and spreading across the pavement was a veritable river to the fluffy’s eyes. Although the concrete was still very much visible through the film of rainwater, the orphan foal’s heart raced as it envisioned monsters swarming through the open waters. Granted, the foal lacked the imagination necessary to visualize monsters from the abyss; it was more afraid of monster-misters and barky monsters spontaneously bursting forth and snagging it without mercy.
“Widdow Fabbo nu wike sky wawa! Nu wike sky wawa ad aww! Buh’ nee’ sky wawas fo’ smeww pwetty 'gain!” the foal complained while shuffling its hooves nervously, tapping the wetted floor beneath them. “Sky wawa pweasies nu huwt Widdow Fabbo! Am onwy widdow babbeh! Am onwy widdow ba–huu huuu huuuuu–babbeh!”
Terror held Little (Reddit-word) in place until the rainfall diminished to a trickle. The previous torrents falling from the roof had been reduced to little more than sprinkles pouring lazily to the ground below. Trembling from both fear and the cold breeze, the foal was still hesitant to venture from its sanctuary. The deciding factor in the foal’s determination was its refusal to taste its partially rehydrated excrement.
“Widdow Fabbo nu wan wicky poopies and pee-pees! Dat am bad fo’ widdow babbeh! Bad fo’ widdow babbeh! Nu wan’! Nu good!” The exclamation of the foal’s affirmation was immediately followed by an onset of sadness. After much sobbing, the foal crept out of cover and onto the wet concrete.
Its shivering intensified. “Wawa badsies! Bad wawa!” the foal kept on crying. Despite itself and its unceasing complaining, it positioned itself under the pouring water and rolled around to work the filth out of its fluff. The minutes passed, and the foal’s true color started to emerge as more and more layers of filth were shed into the rainwater. By time most of the fluffy’s grime had been removed from its body, its fluff was sagging onto the floor. The foal looked less like a fluffy and more like some simple ocean sponge cast ashore.
“Huu huu huu! Babbeh aww wed! Nee’ wicky-cweanies! Nee’ mummah! Mummah-ha-ha-huuuuuu!”
Little (Reddit-word) dragged itself back to the relatively dry piece of real estate underneath the shingled awning. Of course, that space shrunk when the fluffy started to shake itself out, shedding water like a sprinkler in just about all directions. The foal spent a considerable amount of time after licking itself in some vain attempt to groom itself; vain in both senses of the word. Some time later still, it decided it was satisfied.
The foal was not anywhere near dry, though. The breezes still blew cold through the alleyway, causing it to shiver violently. But at least for now, most of the “bad poopies” and “pee-pees” were handled.
Yet that still left the issue of getting warm again. “Cowd-huwties feew badsies! Nu wike! Nee’ wawms! Widdow Fabbo nee’ ged wawmsie!” the foal summarized its position succinctly.
It shuffled off in pursuit of somewhere out of the open. In order to find this warm place, Little (Reddit-word) had to expose itself to the wind. The foal could feel the tiniest droplets splattering across its body, blown about on the moist air. “Screee! Nu wan’ be moa wed! Wan be dwy! Stahp bein’ meanies to babbeh! Am onwy widdow babbeh! Weave widdow babbeh awone! Screee!”
The wet air quickly gave rise to a thick fog that rolled along the city streets. As its vision grew literally more cloudy, the foal’s anxieties escalated. “Nuuu! Wawa munstas ebbywewe! Wan’ num babbeh! Weave Widdow Fabbo awone! Nu num Widdow Fabbo! Nu wan’!”
The cold was not much of a bother now. The foal was clumsily making a break for it, panting heavily. The effort made it feel plenty warm in practice. Yet there were not many places spared from the rain, and the reduced visibility further hampered its panicked search.
Little (Reddit-word) very nearly collided with a short wrought-iron gate that had been hidden by the fog until the foal was practically right on top of it, but it was fortunate to have stopped in time. The bars were spaced out in such a way to allow it to easily pass through them, but the bottom of the gate was elevated ever so slightly so as to present a tripping hazard for the orphan. If it continued as it had, there was a good chance that Little (Reddit-word)'s legs would have been snapped like twigs against the wet metal.
“Huu huu, nu can go hewe!” the foal whimpered. Although it could easily pass through the gate if it was careful, the foal did not consider it an option because the gate was practically a wall as far as it was concerned. Most fluffies grew past this thinking as they went on in age, and those in feral herds are taught young; contributing majorly to the infamous yard invasion. This orphan had to go without.
It huffed down the length of the gate, then the length of a wall, before coming across a respectable city square. Stores form the perimeter, most of them restaurants using the square as a food court. Large tables with umbrellas outstretched filled the space. “Dwy pwaces! Huu huu, Widdow Fabbo so gwad! Nu kno’ wha’ do if nu fin’ dwy pwaces!”
Tired and aching, Little (Reddit-word) moved into the shade of one of the umbrella tables expecting to find relief there. It only took a matter of minutes for someone in an apron wielding a bristle broom to appear and shoo the foal off.
“No shitrats in the eating area! Get out of here, pest!”
“Huu huu huu, am Widdow Fabbo, nu shidwat! Stahp wif meanie namesies, munstas! Gib babbeh heawt-huwties! Onwy widdow bab–”
The bristles were coarse like wire on the foal’s backside. The scrapes stung as it was quite literally swept aside like a piece of garbage and sent back into the foggy and puddle-ridden alley.
Little (Reddit-word) found a soggy cardboard box to take refuge in, but it mumbled to itself about how the box did not feel nice, and how it preferred the smells of the food court. The aromas of freshly prepared meals were leagues better than the damp and staleness of the streets. But the world was too mean to let a poor baby fluffy enjoy nice things.
“Huuu… Widdow Fabbo so cowd and hungies… widdow babbeh Widdow Fabbo so saddies!” the orphan foal lamented in between shivers.
The sky did clear later that day. The fog dissipated. Water continued to drip into puddles from the realm up high, far away from the foal’s level of living. The air was warmed by a bright yellow sun. However, the foal continued to shiver.
It wanted to find food, but it lacked the strength to do so.
It was still so very cold, yet there was a terrible warmth in the young fluffy’s cheeks.
“Huu huu, babbeh am sickies! Babbeh nee’ huggies, buh nu hab nu fwuffy fo’ huggies!” Little (Reddit-word) bemoaned. And then it started to cough. “Paff! Paff! Huu huu huu… no wan’ sickies foweba sweepies…”
The foal closed its eyes and wept for itself. This was the beginning of the end of its ordeal. Starvation and an affliction together would do it in, surely. The shivering came to a stop and Little (Reddit-word) drifted into a pallid sleep that came from being too weak to keep its eyes open. Its body was fighting, but there was nothing to fuel it. The unfortunate foal was wasting away where it lied.
Fluffies were prone to drowning when it rained, yes. While the majority preferred to stay in shelter, select number of them elected to get mobile when the water fell. Not by choice, of course, but their nomadic ways have inadvertently increased their chances of survival compared to fluffies that enter storm drains, or burrows. It was a group of these nomadic fluffies that heard the weak chirping of the fading foal and converged on its suffering.
While Little (Reddit-word) drifted in the domain of dreams, its body was tucked into the shoulder fluff of a mare moving with the rest of her herd, going where the smarty led. The smarty went to the food court.
The herd was swiftly ousted via broom-beatings and scattered, leaving a trail of excrement and urine just outside of the square amidst a chorus of “meanie munsta”.