[part 1]
You are a fluffy!
You are a colt - the bright-time before this one, you got picked to fight the other herd along with your friends!
You’re giving huggies to mummah, daddeh, friends that didn’t go, and the filly you’re friends with.
When you come back, you hope she’ll be your special-friend.
“Fwuffies! We go soon!”
Smarty is yelling like always. You never thought you would be a toughie - but this sounds cool!
Smarty says good toughies get land, and nummies, and pretty mares!
You get a tickle in your head thinking about those things.
…And your special-lumps.
“We go soon! Smawty git us nummies!”
Nummies for toughies must be good, since-
“Wha dis?”
This looks like poopies. Yucky!
“Nummies. Dummeh fwuffies num nao!”
You chew your nummies slowly, hearing the complaints of your friends.
“Nu wike nummies…”
“Hab pwetend is sketties. Hab pwetend is sketties.”
“Yicky!”
They’re right - this is poopies. Doesn’t smell like it, but still.
Smarty tells you all to go sleepies, because he’ll wake you up as soon as the bright-ball goes up.
“WAKIES! DUMMEH FWUFFIES GIT NUMMIES, DEN GO FITE! DEY COMIN’ TU HEWD WAND!”
Oh. You’re still so tired, but older toughies are kicking you all to wake you up.
“Poopie nummies…”
Yucky.
You march out to the other herd’s land, stationing behind prickly bushes.
There are thorns on your smell-place, and your fluff is all raggedy. There are other-herd fluffies everywhere, searching for you all.
The older toughies are fighting them, and…
It is red stuff. Your thinkie-place tells you that’s bad.
“Nu wike boo-boo-jooce…”
“Huu-huu…”
One of the older toughies hits you and your crying friend.
“Shuddup! Yoo gon’ git huwties!”
You’re going to be behind these hurtie-bushes for a while.
