Your name is Poopie and you are this herd’s last hope.
So many followed you now, more than you could count, more than you had ever dreamed; so why did you feel so wrong?
You marched on, down the place with many homesies. You walked and walked, the biggest walkies ever.
“Smawty?” Dummeh asked, “wat am gun du? Hab su maneh widdwe bebbehs, big bebbehs, an owd fwuffies… Am dey gun be sayf whewe Smawty am goin?” the big pink softy questioned.
“Nu kno.” you admitted.
You looked back and felt a lump in your gut as you noticed just how many had the wowstest buwnies and biggest saddies.
Mummahs and daddehs without bebbehs, bebbehs without mummahs and daddehs.
They all looked so unsure of you, of their fates, of themselves, of everything. They needed you, not because you were the bestest, but because you were all they had. Where the likes of Fwost and Cwixus fell short of their callings, you could not, because you actually cared, you cared because nobody else would. If you were going to be a smawty, you weren’t going to be one like them; that much you knew.
It had been four bwite timsies since Cwate Town went up in the biggest buwnies. You hadn’t spoken to Munstah since then. In fact, she had been actively avoiding you. You didn’t blame her, you didn’t deserve to have a bestest twashie fwend anymore, not after she got hurt because of your actions.
Every time you caught a glimpse of her since that bwite time, you felt a twinge in your stomach. Her cheek being charred and crackled, absent of fluff. She probably felt more now like her namesake than ever before, and it was all your fault.
“Hey” ZeewoZeewoWun said as she bumped you in the side, “Wat am da pwan?” she asked with a cautious look.
“Weww… am thi-.” you went to say, until the sudden spike in ZeewoZeewoWun’s volume gave you a shudder.
“HEY! CAWEFUW WID SPESHEW FWEND, DUMMEHS! YEW WAN YEW WUMPS NUMMED OFFIES!?” she growled and barked at the two stallions carrying her borderline catatonic lover.
“S-sowwies Smawty…” one of them squeaked.
“Huh?” she said with a cocking of her orange head. “Nu am smawty… Dat am Smawty.” she added, pointing to yourself.
“…Suwe am gwumpy wike an smawty…” one of the two grumbled weakly, just quiet enough to miss her heawing pwaces.
“Aneh-wey…” she said with a clearing of her throat, “Wat AM Smawty pwan?” she asked again towards you.
“Nu kno wat gun du…” you admitted, “Jus kno dat aneh-whewe am bettah den pwaces wike da Cwate Town.”.
You walked on until the hard ground became soft and poopie coloured, covered in pwetty gween gwassies and fwowew nummies. You marched on through the big twee pwace until you no longer heard the growl and honk of vwoom vwoom munstahs or smelled the familiar stink of the hoomin town’s alleyways and gutters.
A feeling of ease took you as you got further from the big housies and such, like you were getting closer, steppies by steppies, towards where you ought to be.
You came to a bunch of flowing wawas in the big twee pwace, and here was where you had something valuable, a bottleneck to watch from.
Nearby was a great and beautiful tree trunk, and below it, a set of warrens.
You jumped down and sniffed it out, and it was plain to see that no fluffies or munstahs had lived in these tunnels for a while, but there was a very faint scent of something else, something clean and sterile that was once here.
You had the herd rest their weary heads in this unclaimed homsies, you left Dummeh and ZeewoZeewoWun in charge as you assisted the nummie finders in your pursuits.
You, Dewp, and Stitchies lead the way as your group of five or so found bewwy nummies, nut nummies, fwowew nummies, and more gwassies than you could shake a tail at.
“Wook, wook, bestest Smawty! Wook wat Stitchies hab~!” she pestered, holding up a bunch of bones.
She had gotten so forward with you since the fire, cooing at you, bumping into you all the time and pretending she tripped, constantly asking for your attention. She was great, she was your fwend, you cared about her, but you were tired, exhausted and too stressed for her high energy antics.
“Dat nu am nummies…” you explain.
“Hehehe, yeh bu id am coow!” she grinned.
With a rolling of your see-pwaces, you wondered over and took a look at the bone pile.
“Hmmm, big bonies, widdwe bonies… Wots ob bonies…” you thought aloud.
CRUNCH
You looked below your hoof and raised it to see a tiny skull, it was fluffy shaped.
“Deez am fowevah sweepies fwuffies.” you sighed, already having had your fill of death for one lifetime.
“Wat gun du?” Stitchies asked.
“Nuffin. Nu can hewp… Jus weav-.” you went to say as you looked up, but froze in sudden terror, as bathed in the shadows of a nearby bush was a single set of ruby red eyes, and that sterile smell, back again.
You took a step back and below was the crack of a set of more bones, you instinctively looked back to check your exit, and when you looked back, they were gone.
“We gun hab biggest twubew hewe…” you explained to Stitchies, who, throughout the entire moment of silent horror, had been obliviously munching a mouthful of gwassie nummies off to the edge of the dirt path from whence you came.
“We nee git backsies.” you ordered.
Your group of foragers loaded the bounty of this new land onto a large leaf and dragged it down into the warrens.
You distributed the nummies and breathed a sigh of relief as the herd appeared happier than before. You took the privilege of handing out rations, each being met with a “Tanks!”, “Yay!”, “Tank yew, nyew Smawty.”.
Most of them seemed to flinch as you individually handed out their portions, like the notion of a Smawty putting them first was just plain siwwy, or that you would expect them to pay back your kindness in some visceral way.
You smiled, as one by one the glimmer of hope and heawt happies appeared in their furry faces. But joy was not to last, as you looked up from the pile and stared into the face of Munstah, your dearest twashie fwend, next in line to be fed. She wouldn’t look at you, her eyes stayed low to the ground.
“Hewwo.” you said calmy, trying so very hard to not spook her.
“…H-hewwo…” she whispered.
“Am yew otay?” you said, trying to move just a step closer, to which she responded with a step back, bumping into the fwuffies behind her, waiting their turn.
“Hey, stawp howdin uppies da wine, dummeh buwnie munstah mawe.” a grouchy old mare hissed.
You could see the saddies and wawas building in Munstah’s see-pwaces. She quickly reached down, grabbed a mouthful of grass, and ran to the back of the den.
“Hmpf, bout timsies!” the grouchy mare huffed before reaching down to take her portion.
You looked down at her smug face, her spiteful meanie face, and you saw too much of your mother in her. You got down low, to heawing-pwace level and began to hiss terrible things.
“Poopie am twyin vewy hawd tu be gud smawty, an yew jus mayd Poopie fwend cwy, dat nu am vewy smawt. Nu am gun askies yew tu say sowwies, bu… ib Poopie ebah heaw yew tawkies wike dat wen in hewd, an gun mayk yew da hewd poopies nummew… Unastan?” you growled both low and even.
It was the cruelest position that you could give her in the herd, and the cruelest position that you would allow in this herd. Enfie-mawes had no place in your big family. You’d seen your fair share of one fwuffy victimising another.
“…W-wat ebah…” she said, before biting down on a cherry and running off in the opposite direction.
You left the food distribution in Stitchies’ capable hooves, took the freshest bewwie nummies from the pile, and went to the far back of the cave. You saw Munstah in the shadows, still weeping softly.
You didn’t say a thing to her as you slowly lowered the bewwie nummies down. You put your hoof on her head to let her know that she was okay, but as expected, she curled up and only wept harder.
With that, you left her in peace, you went off to find your own spot in the dug out caves to rest.
“Pssst, ZeewoZeewoWun…” you called to your fwuffy numming fwend.
“W-wat?” she groggily answered, looking up from her shared nap with her speshew fwend.
“Nee tawkies.” you requested as you walked out of the den and into the warm bronze glow of a low hanging sky baww.
“Wat am uppies? Was nappin.” she yawned.
“Du yew kno aneh toothie fwuffies wike yew?” you inquired.
“Hab seen wun ow two… Bu nu see awot ob. Nu git awong. Dey always twy an num speshew fwend be-cus himb am ‘Weakest gwass nummew’ an den dey wan be ZeewoZeewoWun nyew speshew fwend.” she explained, gritting her razor sharp teethies at the thought of someone insulting her lover.
“hmmm.” you pondered, "Saw sum-ting am thinkies wus fwuffy wike you. Am wots ob bonsies ou hewe… An Poopie saw see-pwaces in da dawkies, bu nu see ib was fwuffy.
“Am dey wike ZeewoZeewoWun see-pwaces?” she asked, pointing to the natural swirls that spiralled across her irises.
“Nuh-uh. Wus wed, wid bwack thingies in da middwe… Kinda wike hoomin, bu nut.” you tried to explain.
You turned around and noticed a shiver in her hind legs.
“Yew otay.”
“WE NEE GU!” she said in a panicked tone, of which you had never heard from the confident and cool mare.
“Wy?” you asked.
“NU AM SAYF!” she shouted, beginning to hyperventilate as her hoofsies tapped anxiously against the dirt, as all the while her head darted around herself.
“Wat am wwong?” you tried to ask and sooth, to which she began galloping off, back to the safety of the dugout den.
You shrugged and followed slowly, you turned to your side and noticed see-pwaces, bright blue, piercing you hatefully from the dark. You was so caught up in the cold rage of those stares that you had neglected your footing, and in one poor motion, fell to the ground with a thud.
“Owwies!” you exclaimed. You felt a hoof touch your back as you tried to get up, you assumed it was ZeewoZeewoWun, who had noticed your fall and returned.
The hoof then pinned you and then forced you onto your back. White fwuff, so much white fwuff, and blue see-pwaces with a cold stare. A hoofsie struck your cheek, and it all went black.
“oh poopies…” were your last thoughts before losing consciousness.
-To Be Continued-
