The events of the previous night hadn’t been a dream no matter how much Basil told himself it had to be. Pretty had slept on top of him the entire night so he couldn’t go anywhere, and beyond that her ‘brothers’ wandered aimlessly around the nest at all hours. They would stop in place for awhile, and he thought by the strange snorts and wheezes they might be sleeping while standing up.
Was he able to sleep? No. Pretty was able to throughout the night, though on occasion she woke up and gave his ear little licks and preened at him. “Wub nyu mawe speciaw fwiend. Am all Pwetty’s.” She told him, and he wasn’t going to deny it.
As Bright Times came again, Pretty would get up from her new concubine and stretch out with a flit of her tail. “Upsies, fowebah mawe! Pway n funsies!” She told him excitedly, and he stood up with a groan. The poopies formed a cluttered line, getting into formation at her approval. They would walk out from the nest which now stank of death and poopies, Basil immediately glad for the clean feeling of the sunshine.
As far as what they were doing? It was a forced march. Pretty walked on and on, babbling excitedly all the time. “Wook! Buggies!” She fell off to go chasing butterflies, the derped poopies watching them flitter by and trying to get them into their mouths. They were far too uncoordinated to manage such a thing and were left to drool stupidly. Basil sat on the ground, finally able to rest for a moment. The first thought he’d had was running away but his body was too tired to even try. Meanwhile, Pretty had as much energy as she did that morning. Eventually she went trotting off behind a clearing of trees.
Some time had passed but eventually she called out: “Basiw! Nee’ speciaw fwiend ‘fo wicky-cweanies!” That didn’t compel him to stand up though. In fact it just made him curl into a ball on the ground and squeeze his eyes shut. If he couldn’t see the world, maybe it couldn’t see him. Though flatly refusing reality didn’t really work in his favor. “Bwuddeh! Bwing bad speciaw fwiend! Su madsies!” Her voice had lifted to a shrill, bratty screech. One of the poopies, maybe Dummeh, clamped his mouth around Basil’s neck and began to drag him off to the location of the voice. Basil kicked his hooves.
“Nu! Nu wan! NU WAN!” He pleaded and begged, though eventually he was plopped down in front of the mare. Pretty lifted up her tail, presenting her rear to Basil. “Teww Dummeh bwuddeh to num speciaw-wumps.” Basil was threatened, and despite not being able to vocalize a thing the derped poopie opened his mouth and showed off a disgusting array of worn-down, black and brown rotted teeth. Deciding that eating poopies was better than having that anywhere near his speciaw-wumps, Basil dragged himself over and began licking her.
“Teehee! Su gud! Bestest wicky-cweanies!” Pretty chirruped in her syrupy-sweet singsong voice, stamping a front hoof to the soil with great satisfaction. Basil kept his eyes closed during this as well, trying to imagine he was anywhere else. Maybe back at his old home. His mummah had truly been a meanie who had abandoned him but nothing was this bad there.
Eventually it was over and Pretty turned back to him. “Otay! Naow is time ‘fo bwuddehs tu hab nummies!” Perhaps she had noticed a change in Dummeh. The poopy did have a somewhat different glaze in his eyes, continually gnashing his rotten teeth together. “Dummeh, stay wif bad mawe. Pwetty gib nummies.”
With that she would trot away from the two. Her other two were left standing nearby, stupidly so, apparently not willing to move unless commanded to do so. Pretty had done this many times before and it always worked, especially in a world full of feral fluffies just like themselves. Standing out in a clearing she rose her head up and called out: “Hewp! Hewp Pwetty! Su su scawdy! Am huwties!”
The call for help was heard by a large workhorse of a brown stallion. He was out here finding nummies for his herd, able to do so alone because he was strong enough to fight off any bad smarties or get away from a threat. Looking up from the cluster of mushrooms he was picking off a log, he broke off in a run to find the fluffy who needed help.
Soft pink fur with a regal purple mane and tail, and a horn too. The stallion figured she was a pet fluffy, maybe. That’d explain why she was out here yelling for help.
“Hewwo! Am Mud. Mawe in twoubew?” He asked, marching up to see if she was hurt. She was kneeling slightly so maybe there was something wrong with her hoof.
Meanwhile, Basil could see all this happening. He didn’t exactly know what she was planning to do but it couldn’t be good considering everything he’d learned about her the short time they were together. “Nu! NUUUU! WUN! SHE AM MUNSTAH MAWE!” He yelled out from his position next to Dummeh. The derped fluffy did absolutely nothing to stop him from doing so. He’d just been told to make sure he didn’t get away.
Mud looked over to where Basil had yelled from. “Munstah…?” He began to question, and just then Pretty sprang up from her position next to him and rammed her horn viciously into his face. It skewered through his cheek, got stuck. Mud squealed in surprise, anger, and pain. Shit exploded out from behind him and he’d whip from side to side until Pretty was finally dislodged from him. His cheek wept with blood, flaps of fur and skin hanging down from his face now from the goring.
“Hewp! Stoopeh, Stinkeh, hewp!” She cried out from her position on the ground, curling up as Mud attempted to lay into her with his hooves. Stupid as they were, though, her bizarre little herd was incredibly obedient and quick to respond. The two stallions broke into the clearing and slammed into Mud. The would-be rescuer would find himself subjected to rapid hoof strikes that came down from every angle. Luckily, he didn’t suffer much…these derped beasts were strong enough to bring about a rather quick end with hooves to the head.
“Otay! Nummies!” Pretty announced, lifting herself up from the ground and shaking a few leaves off. Dummeh dragged Basil along, who was too tired and shocked to even attempt to fight it off. He looked down to Mud’s eyes, now flat and lifeless, whimpering a bit as the three poopies bent down to rip and tear off chunks of his flesh. Pretty didn’t participate, because she liked pretty tasting things like berries or flowers.
“Nummies, bad mawe. Su su bad. Hmph!” Her nostrils flared, and Basil could only think if this stallion’s herd would miss him. Did lots of babbehs rely on him? Where would the mummahs get nummies from? He didn’t want to become food himself though, and by this point he was properly frightened of what could happen. Getting close to the pile of spilt intestines that were being fought over, he sank his teeth in and tried to imagine it was skettis. Sketti day. The best day of the week.
.