TODAY WAS THE WORST DAY EVER!
Blue Mare lost Special Friend! She lost Special Friend’s new babies too! She lost everything, then she got lost, then when everyone found each other again there was a barking monster who hurt her really badly! She was going to sleep forever because of the pain and icky, numb, kinda poopy feeling. But then a human picked her up, and said he was going to make her feel better. She was inside a house and she heard a Fluffy and its babies, but she started to feel cold and like she didn’t want to be there anymore. So she stared at the hole in the wall where light came from and tried to think about how she got here, desperate to distract herself.
…
The big blue Fluffy’s day had started off just fine. She woke up and made good poopies and peepees next to the bones of the old Smarty, like the current Smarty and his short-lived predecessor demanded. She hated seeing them. He deserved what had happened to him, which had come as a complete shock to her when she found out his fate and (over time) the extent of his crimes. That day she couldn’t help but think about it as she squatted down and tried to relax. The empty eye sockets didn’t hold horror for her, just sadness and feelings she didn’t have words for (humans don’t either, at least not specific single words).
From the many accounts of her mother, her time with the herd, and the resolution of the two against each other, she had a clear list of his actions. Her father was a white Smarty with a mane of pale yellow and pink named Birthday who came to the big herd with his own small herd. Nobody told her where they came from, as there was no Fluffy willing and able to relay the information (even if they had, none could have known of Birthday’s youth as the unwanted gift pet via his namesake holiday, given to a young writer that had intentionally tried to make him as nasty as possible so Birthday could be presented with play scenarios to see how he acted them out for ideas on writing villains).
The invader herd consisted of three Toughies (from the same owner as Birthday, his “heroic” writing aid Fluffies), two greens named Patrick and Arbor with the last being an orange and pink Stallion that never received a name despite promises made by the Smarty. He also brought two very young pregnant Mares; all of the non-Toughie non-Special Friends of the herd had been lost (meaning sacrificed as distractions at a farm).
There was also a Poopie, older than the two Mares. It was his daughter from a failed litter who had outlived her mother and all her siblings, all victims of the Smarty’s awareness of the possibility of poison in food from play sessions with the author but not the increased risks of returning to steal from the same food source every day; being forced to eat only feces she had been spared the taste testing duty. Almost all of Birthday’s young was Poopies (no Fluffy, and indeed very few humans could know the cause; he was a Niobe Fluffy, sold by breeders to have undesirable young via de novo mutations in order to prevent starting up competition) which he found to be a crime punishable usually by death which became more and more certain as failed litters went on.
Blue’s father challenged the old Smarty, and the Toughies of both herds had taken positions in a circle to watch when he accepted. Blue Mare wasn’t sure exactly why, but Toughies had a hard time dealing with Smarties when one wasn’t on the other side. Blue Mare heard from yellow now-Smarry that the old Smarty put up a decent-enough fight, but was weak from age and old-pain. Her father was triumphant, the old Smarty trampled until he wasn’t really anything ever recognizable as a Fluffy anymore, the victorious Birthday methodically destroying every inch of the old black Fluffy’s face, squashing his eyes, and ripping off his fluff until in a bizarre way until he “wook wike Tummeh Babbeh dat nu in Mummah wong enuff”. In the aftermath of the duel, when Birthday made poopie and peepie (the only one he didn’t demand another Fluffy consume) directly onto the mangled and twisted lump of broken flesh and bone that used to be the old Fluffy’s head, a new poopie and peepee place for the herd was designated. Before the year was up Birthday would join his opponent in the trophy privy.
His Poopie daughter survived only two months before she was kicked to death for vomiting when, immediately after finishing eating the morning shit pile Smarty had made in his nest, he had returned then shit on her directly; it had not been a slow death since he had been bored all morning waiting for food to be brought back by the Scouts and common Fluffs and had exhausted his ability to become erect on the Mares already.
He then summoned his favorite Mare who had initially caught his eye due to her similar coat colors to his own; she was crushed to death when, after breaking her legs, he decided to see what the inside of a Fluffy looked like and attempted to rip her open with his calloused hoofpads (since he had been curious about what his own looked like, and figured her colors meant hers would look the same). Frustrated, he commanded a Toughie to open her up then ordered that Toughie to be beaten by the others for showing up the Smarty by (tearfully) accomplishing the task with his teeth; the rest of the day was spent playing with the guts of the poor Mare. He took to the news of the Scouting party having never returned poorly, stomping out the eye of the Fluffy who relayed the message from the (now very frightened, but still too obedient to their programming and societal expectations to resist) Toughies. That night he tried to consume the intestines of the Mare out of frustrated hunger (having not yet been told of the stored food in the box next door), stopping and gagging only from the fecal smell and taste. By the morning he had consumed the lungs instead. Her Foals were distributed amongst the older Mares until Birthday’s various appetites claimed them one by one, only Scout not-Poopie Mare surviving him.
Only one baby had survived from the two pregnant Mares, who was rendered into paste for having been born brown, followed by her mother for having screamed so loudly at the sight that Birthday’s ears hurt. He only had a single child who did not suffer that same fate, a single blue baby among a litter of brown who all survived (due to Birthday being so disinterested in them he didn’t even bother looking twice once he saw his son). The blue baby had a dark blue coat like blue Mare herself did, but with a grey mane and bright blue eyes. Smarty named him, the only Fluffy he ever gave one to; Sky. Meanwhile the Smarty mounted everything that could move, and if it tried to while he was having his fun he made sure they would never move again (though the deaths most stemmed from internal bleeding, starvation because he saw feeding the invalids as a waste, or simply wasting away as his removal of their limbs and subsequent taunting forced them to Wan Die). Half the Mares of the herd he conquered were impregnated by him, and Blue was born from one of these unions.
Sky had several other blue siblings and one yellow one. All perished due to Birthday demanding they be force fed solid food to “make them stronger” after he blamed Sky’s bout of coughing and sniffles as a Talkie on milk (having been mill-raised and given a reset before sale, he had no memories of nursing).
Far worse sins were to come, though blue Mare only heard of them long later.
…
Back in the present blue Mare tried to hold on. The pain was unbearable, she felt like a pressure she had never known existed inside her was in danger of coming out. If that happened there wouldn’t be anything left of her, she was sure of it. Forever Sleep hadn’t even taken priority as the immediate concern yet in her mind, she was still stuck on losing the contents of her stomach.
The pain was unbearable. It was the worst burning sensation ever, worse than when she tried to touch a pretty-smelling candle flame with her hoof in her little human’s home, worse than when the tiny flying bug that looked like a Fluffy hurt her so bad her muzzle swelled up. There wasn’t a comparison or word she was familiar with for it, and the mind voice was completely silent.
The human had saved her life, making the barking monster drop her and run away. It even picked up the little Poopie Babbehs, and a human that even liked them seemed trustworthy. The mental voice unloaded a barrage of placating thoughts on her, all of obedience and pleading with the human though she remained silent.
He had turned on a magic box with a human inside who was trying to fix a Stallion who had been hurt too. His belly…spaghetti (the word volunteered by the voiced in her head, which she accepted as an explanation) was outside him and he looked like she felt. Which meant hers were the same. Blue Mare looked down and saw her fluff was brushed with a reddish brown from the injury juice which the headvoice said was very bad and meant that she needs immediate help from human magic and Fluffy love. There was also pink stuff, like the limbs of an adult Fluffy with a body like a Foal born far too early coming out of her. She first thought of her babies, then relaxed as she felt they were still safe inside her. Blue Mare looked back at the screen where the Stallion’s legs were moving vainly as if trying to walk despite being pinned on his back, succeeding in pushing more tummy spaghetti out. Realization hit, and blue Mare felt a shiver as her limbs felt tingly. She retreated back into memory.
…
Blue Mare’s blue and white Mummah knew a terrible fate awaited the herd as the trees began turning Poopie Fluffy colors, that regular change as if nature was warning the Fluffies of the Earth regarding the miserable months of existence before them. She wasn’t old enough to have seen it before, and under Birthday’s control the smarter members of the herd had learned to speak only when necessary while the younger ones simply babbled on unimportant (even by Fluffy standards) subjects, so the Special Friendless Mummah Fluff could only guess that this was an apocalyptic omen rather than yearly change.
As Birthday grew more and more obese and left his palatial box (formerly the Toughie Fluffpile barracks) less and less many male Fluffies deserted the herd. Blue and white Mummah took her chances with Patrick, who wanted to try to try to return to his human.
Of this time, blue Mare heard nothing. The story always skipped to when she her mother knew she was a Talkie, but she had memories as a Chirpie back to when she had begun to understand words, which had unraveled along with meaning from a place in her brain that was unfamiliar. But the words left as soon as they came, the meanings sinking into the soft darkness of her mind, ensuring she couldn’t comprehend her world until she had copies of the words in the part of her mind where ‘she’ herself was. The voice that came from the Mummah smell slowly became familiar and the words that she spoke the most frequently took priority; mummah, babbeh, pwettie, gud, wub, miwkie, wastest, fiwwy, stwong. They didn’t match exactly the mind words but were close, and as she became more familiar with them the mind words started to look and feel more like the way they sounded.
But when she tried to make the noises herself she couldn’t. She opened her mouth and tried to make word noises but all that came was the non-word (chirp) sound that went from a hardness in her chest through the narrow space between her very big tongue and the roof of her mouth while the rest of the air went out her nose. By letting her mouth go limp she could make a (coo) noise that came from a big part of her chest slowly out her mouth. Those two noises, along with a scream she was unable to reproduce at will, were her instinctual vocalizations. But she found one time (before her mind grasped the idea of time) that by tightening the back of her throat and letting the sound go through her nose she made new “Nnm”, “Hnh”, “Nhgk” noises. While trying these out the Mummah voice said “Wt wng babbeh? Hb bd dwm?” but blue then-Filly could only reply “Cheep, cheep, nnm-nnnn.” back. “Babbeh m dmmh? N, m stww Gud Babbeh. Mummah Wub Wastest Gud Fiwwy.”
The next day she could open her mouth wider, making a “Hneh” noise, and closing mouth and nose made a high “Hiin” in her throat. “Khk” came soon after.
After that it felt like she had something other than just a whole opening mouth; lips! She succeeded at blowing at them with a wide jaw to make a “Bebh” and “Mnh” sound.
After that, the tongue could move! She mastered the tongue out “Ah”, “Ghhl”, “Lhe”, and a wet “Sth”. Later, possibly the same day, she first discovered she could pucker and purse her lips, managing “Phff”, “Jsh”, “Bbbl” and “Dhgk”.
As the dexterity of her lips increased she was able to better control milk flow, causing the Mummah voice to say more good words and sing less of the Mummah Song. When the voice and smell was gone and she was on her side alone again she would continue to practice, successfully divorcing all of the vowel sounds from wet consonant expressions.
The world around her was still a mystery mostly. There was a human which her brain said was a vaguely Mummah-like thing that could be bad if she was bad and deserved it, though the context for “bad” was not yet present. There was always warmth and an endless supply of of milk. She knew she had siblings, she could clearly remember their smells, but she couldn’t recall ever feeling them. There was a Stallion who smelled very strange but gave her a lot of kisses and hugs which always made her stretch out her legs and laugh loudly. She remembered her mother screaming a lot, in pain and anger. She was pooped on a few times (collateral damage of a mother’s tantrum), peed on once by what smelled like the Stallion, kicked every once in awhile but probably not on purpose (it actually was, though it was the now Derped Patrick making sure she was still alive while he babysat; an awkward poke feels much more violent when it scoots one’s entire body its full length across the floor).
Blue Mare first opened her eyes in the night after being woken from a vaguely scary dream of some kind by her own frightened fart, in a big and confusing place that she would later find out was the human Filly’s room. The first thing she ever saw was the sky, black and sparkly (dim LED lights simulating the outdoors) but it was warm inside so her outdoors instincts did not trigger. She made mouth noises at her mother to see what she did, and only got a twitched ear and yawn in response from the beautiful sleeping giant. So blue then-Filly took the opportunity to move now that she could direct herself somewhere, slowly dragging her chubby body around the room. A new word came from her mind, but this one came with the realization she could mouthsound it! “Am Spowah! Spowin! Spowin Babbeh! Bwave!” It was wonderful! She could make the mind words into sound, and got even more excited because the words stayed in her front place when she said them! There was a warm feeling of relief like what came when her Mummah held her and licked her, and that made her even happier! “Fiwwy, Spowah, Mummah, Gud, Mummah, Babbeh, Miwkies, Mummah!” She kept dragging herself, looking at everything and comprehending nothing, enjoying the tingles made from her fluff dragging against the ground that also felt like a Fluffy. “Mummah! Gud! Gud! Gud!” She giggled when the ground rubbing made her cheeks tingle. “Miwkies! Babbeh, Fiwwy, Miwkies, Spowin!”
Suddenly the ground bounced. “WHAT THE FUDGE?!” Blue then-Filly was scared by the noise, thumping, and a bad human-Filly voice! “Mitzy! Mizty, wake up! Your baby just pooped and drug herself all over the floor. Come get her.”
Suddenly the room was light, and she saw a giant monolithic closed door ahead of her, with a taller structure containing a magic ring (a wardrobe and mirror) beside it.
Blue then-Filly heard her Mummah wake up and make baby-like noises for a second before shouting “Nu! Bad Babbeh!” which caused blue then-Filly to flinch and make more relief warmth. “GET HER NOW!”
Blue then-Filly felt herself start to get picked up when there was a crackle and her entire body felt like it was full of painful tightness. She fell back down on the ground face-first so that her wide open eye touched the Fluffy-like carpet, adding even more pain and to a place that had never hurt before. Both blue Fluffies were left screaming from the static shock, though the larger one stopped after a moment and screamed directly into the ear of blue then-Filly in anger. “DUMMEH BABBEH! HUWT MUMMAH!”
Hurt was a new word. A bad word. It didn’t need to be said again, it stuck. Blue then-Filly felt a blunt blow (in actuality the panicked flailing of a Fluffy mother who was familiar with static electricity but had less than no understanding of it) and was sent rolling three times over until she came to a stop on her back. She blinked in stunned confusion as she screamed in fear when became a dull siren-like whine, then suddenly she was looking up at her mother; no longer a gorgeous slumbering titan, she appeared like a monster with teeth exposed, eyes wide and dilated, and nostrils blowing hot air on blue then-Filly’s entire soft body. “DUMMEH BAD FWUFFY!”
She lunged forward and grabbed blue then-Filly by the tummy fluff, flinging her to the side.
“What the fuck, Mitzy!? Get off her!”
“Kimmy, what the hell is going on in there?”
“Nothing, mom! The Fluffies just had bad dreams is all!”
“Well shut them up, or I’ll shut them up for good.”
Blue then-Filly huddled into the fetal position and open-mouth cried, pausing only for short breaths and holding her tail to her face for comfort regardless of the terrible smell.
“BAD BABBEH GET HUWTIES!”
“Come here!”
There was sounds of struggling.
“I swear to god, if you don’t stay quiet I’m going to let mom turn you into a stuffed toy for that baby and Patrick to share. Do you want that? I asked do you want that? Good. Now go make her stop crying while I clean this mess up, and she better be as spotless as the floor is when I’m done or so help me I’ll make you eat the paper towels!”
Blue then-Filly shrieked as she was hoisted up, brusquely but not painfully, and held upside down while her Mummah began licking her poopie place. She struggled a bit, not liking being upside down and now able to see how she was so high up! Far below her was her Mummah’s legs and some soft hairless places that the voice in her head said was associated with very good things. She wanted down to the fluffless things, so she waved her front legs as if trying to swim through the air to them. But the licking was so relaxing, and when she felt licks on the sore spot on her tummy she felt so sleepy that she-
-was now in front of the hairless spot, on the groundfluff again. She was confused what to do other than get closer. She smelled the earthy but artificial smell of the carpet, then the distant poopie place of her mother, but then detected something wonderful that was closer, something that made the other smells go away; sweet, warm, happy love feeling, milk! It was the milk places! That’s where the food came from! She ambled her way towards it before being scooted by her mother’s giant hoof right in. By muscle memory she latched, now amazed at the sight. It seemed to stretch forever in her mind before there was vision, but now she saw it was only a bit bigger than herself. On the other teat she saw the yellowish thickened bit of milk that would be hers next, and on the current one she was able to watch rather than just feel her mother’s heartbeat and amazed at how the more full she felt the more the veins vanished under the gradually relaxing skin. She reached out beyond the teat rather than just kneading the milk out of it, trying to give her a hug as sorry for whatever she had done wrong earlier. A giant hoof came down gently on her head and with it the Mummah Song which made a feeling far deeper than the voice in her brain seem to almost pulse in time with, and as the teat deflated she felt her Mummah’s abdominal muscles under her own soft hoof relax. Blue then-Filly fell backwards when the milk flow slowed, letting out a wet burp before a bit of the swallowed milk came back up and dribbled over her chin and right cheek. Blue then-Filly’s Mummah picked her up and licked it off, then placed her on the other teat. She hugged it and cooed for a while, feeling too embarrassed by earlier to speak. Instead she looked up at her mother who gasped, saying “Babbeh open see-pwaces! Gud Babbeh! Babbeh nu am Dummeh. Mummah sowwy twy huwt Babbeh back. Mummah gwad Mummah keeped ou.”
…
Blue Mare was picked up again. The memory faded as awareness of the pain returned. She wasn’t a happy and best/only baby with a warm home and a proud human, she was a dirty feral who was dying and at the mercy of a pair of human Stallions until then. The sense of touch was becoming more hyper-sensitive. She felt her fluff tangling with itself, the pores where it erupted from skin. The blood flowing rather than just the heart pumping. Her sphincters tightening and relaxing, instinctively withholding enough feces for one small defensive spray. Manual awareness of her breathing. The tummy babies were still very small, but the stimuli outside their water huggie gave them reason to panic, to squirm with the minuscule amount of movement they could make. Her limbs felt strange, too heavy and tingly compared to the rest of her and her ears were cold. The human Stallion held her close, so close she could see his skin; it reminded her of Mummah’s teats and gave her a bit of comfort. He brought her in close, his lower face at her belly and she prepared for him to take a bite but instead he sniffed her like a Fluffy would. That made her feel even better, this human knew Fluffy things. She wanted to sniff him too, and she tried to lift her heavy limbs for a hug pose. He brought her face to his nose and sniffed again, giving her a chance to smell the mix of sweat and hair as well as to appreciate just how massive a human was. Then he held her higher and sniffed her lower body. Her mind shifted back to Foalhood and for a moment she expected his tongue to clean her. Then she was lowered, bottom resting on the wood desk again. She balanced there while the magic box resumed talking and she slipped into another memory.
…
Though blue then-Filly’s first experience with exploring had felt overall somewhat negative, hardly the fanfare that opening eyes and talking so young let alone at the same time deserved, it did cement that both of her mothers loved her, human and Fluffy. When Patrick peed himself he got spankings with a Sorry Stick (the “shelter in place, doom is upon you” instinct that the sight of the distinct and copyrighted pattern of the handle guard caused gave an immediate understanding of what it was), when Mummah farted she was yelled at until she left the room. All eyes monitored blue then-Filly for the raising of the tail and slight prance indicating there was activity in her lower gut, which ended in her ferried by hand or teeth into the litter box. When she peed, which came before anyone including herself could predict it, something from a bottle was sprayed and a paper towel was pressed into the spot to soak the moisture. Meanwhile everything she did was met with praise. Even Patrick seemed to like her presence, licking her head and ruffling it again with his hoof which gave her a spiky look that human-Filly loved.
Blue then-Filly liked that. She wanted to impress. To make proud.
Her Fluffy mother didn’t call her Bestest. Rather, it was human-Filly Kim. ‘Best baby ever’ technically, but from someone the headvoice said was Mummah it still registered as Bestest. Immediately she knew she was one of the most important Fluffies that existed and minor Fluffies are only important by their relations to her. Then a blank feeling where her mind kind of tickled as she felt more was supposed to be said. When Kimmy simply continued combing her fluff, more knowledge dumped into blue then-Filly’s mind. She deserved more than her siblings, they should suffer and perish before her, everybody loves her best, she is the superior specimen against which others were measured, destroy all opposition. But that didn’t mean anything. She had no siblings. There was Patrick, but being better than him had no meaning; he was basically a big Foal but the Stallion smell meant he couldn’t be considered competition. She asked her mother one day about the less good siblings. “Mummah, whewe am (her mind threw two new words into her vocabulary) bwuddahs an sissies?”
Blue then-Filly was scooped into her mother’s arms and hugged tightly before being set down. “Mummah’s wastest gud Babbeh am Tawkie Babbeh nao! Su soon! Babbeh su gud, Mummah wub ou su muchies!”
“Nu Mummah, Babbeh am make tawkies fo awhiwe now. Wan know whewe bwud-“
SMACK
Blue then-Filly flew sideways into her mother’s leg. “BAD BABBEH! NU WIE TU MUMMAH EBAH OW GET HUWTIES!”
Then Mummah yelped as she was hoisted upwards. “Bad Mitzy! You don’t hurt your baby!”
“Buh Mummah, Babbeh am wiaw! Du bad thing, get huwties ow be wuwsuw Babbeh watew!”
“She didn’t lie, she was talking the other night when she made that poopsplosion. Its what woke me up, she was babbling for like five minutes before I smelled it.”
“Babbeh nu wie?”
“No. By the way, what DID happen to her siblings?”
“…”
“Well?”
“…weww wut?”
“What happened to all your other babies?”
“…Fwuffy nu know.”
“Hey Mitzy?”
“Whuh?”
“Liars get worse unless they get punished.”
Kimmy never used the Sorry Stick as far as blue then-Filly ever saw (in actuality she would years later, though on a boyfriend and its destruction on the young man’s backside saved Patrick from swattings for the rest of his life). She was quick to punish using Sorry Boxes however, though she branched out into more elaborate forms of closet punishment. Causing Mitzy fear was fun and her crowning achievement was a harness on elastic that hung from the pole inside. Any time Mitzy was particularly ornery, which was usually from being stopped from doing what she saw as her right (mainly bullying Patrick and her baby) she would be put there, where her thrashing would cause her to bounce, and trying to create more noise by bouncing herself into the walls to kick would make the situation so much worse as she would inevitably miss a kick and slam into the wall. By the end she would have spent all her anger, leaving her bruised and weeping and ready to apologize. Once blue then-Filly found out about all this the long absences of Mitzy in blue then-Filly’s Chirpiehood suddenly made more sense.
That day while Mummah screeched and banged herself against the closet walls boue then-Filly went exploring the rooms beyond Kim’s bedroom. Her leg muscles were getting much stronger, though coordinating a gait for long periods was beyond her; blue then-Filly spent a lot of time faceplanted with her butt in the air, on her side trying to roll back onto her hooves, or giving up and scooting her bottom across the floor (her tail as the buffer, to make it easier to pull herself and because Kimmy got mad when she didn’t).
She toddled her way into the next room, lifting her front feet up like she was marching since seeing them raise helped her keep track of where they were. “Spowin’.” She whispered to herself every so often, with a giggle every few times. The other room was like Kimmy’s, but with far less ornamentation. The furniture was bigger, and there was lots more smells. On the bed, reading, was another Kimmy. Blue then-Filly sat down on her bottom (more like throwing her back legs forward and falling on it) and said “Hewwo uddah Kimmy! Be Fwuffy’s Fwiend?”
The human looked over startled, then donned a sour expression. “What are you doing out of Kimmy’s room? You shit in here and I’ll make a hat out of you.”
“Nu make bad poopies. Went to wittew bawks befowe gu splowin! Am best Fwuffy.”
“Huh. Alright. Didn’t you used to be bigger?”
“Nu? Fwuffy was smawwew befowe. Am stiww Fiwwy, but am be Mawe wike Mummah! Be bestest Mawe!”
The woman slid her legs out from under the covers and leaned forward to pick blue then-Filly up. “No shit, you’re the baby? You were a slimy little balding blue ball two weeks ago! I can’t believe you’re talking already.”
“Babbeh am best Fwuffy! Kimmy Mummah say so! Tawkie is hawd but Babbeh make Mummahs pwoud!”
She scratched behind blue then-Filly’s ears. “Alright, I think I see why my daughter likes you little things. But what did you call me before?”
“Kimmy?”
“That’s my daughter’s name, dear. I’m Cindy.”
“Happy meet ou Cindy! Nu knew hoomins hab Mummahs! Be fwiend?”
“They have daddies too, but you should probably stay out of his way, and sure. I’ll be your friend.”
“YAY!”
She made a new friend! She also learned so much more about humans! They were like Fluffies. They had mothers and fathers, daughters and maybe sons too! Which meant…
“Kimmy hab bwuddahs an sissies?”
“No, she doesn’t have any.”
“Su saddies.”
Blue then-Filly thought for a moment.
“Kimmy is Cindy’s bestest?”
“Well, yeah. By default I guess.” Cindy gave a laugh (intending to tell that joke later).
Kimmy being a last and best baby made blue then-Filly love her all the more. The voice in her head tried to correct her when she tried to think of her as a lifelong lost sister (which for the Fluffy was about three weeks), forcing humans into a binary split of parental figures or as monsters. But it had nothing to say about seeing Kimmy as aspirational, and indeed there was even an incentivized euphoria for following her, learning what she liked. Kimmy was very into music and encouraged blue then-Filly to interact with it while she herself listened. Predictably she began as a Dancie Babbeh, which she found pleased both her mothers. But as blue then-Filly was allowed to watch magic box music she saw music videos, often imitating them as best she could. It was through this that a bond was formed between her and the family father, who actively resented Fluffies (for the frequent damage to his car as roadkill, the times they managed to get into the engine, and mysteriously enough the backseat though they could never tell him how) and had never willingly interacted with his daughter’s pets before. Though never speaking directly to her (out of awkwardness and not wanting to see the exploding red water balloons on the morning commute to the city as any more pitiable) he would pick her up and place her next to the magic box on the wood table, then play the videos. In time she was not only performing clumsy and slow choreography from a seated position to pop songs but also singing along with increasingly better skill. Attempts to stand and enact foot movements always ended in failure though as her legs became stronger and kitten-like soft hoofpads calloused she managed to perform short standing dances.
The only one not fully supportive was Mitzy, who couldn’t understand why there was more than one kind of dance beyond waving stiffly outstretched hooves in a circle and why singing happened when there wasn’t a baby to educate or calm down.
Being struck in the head and falling down from the impact, followed by a treat for herself and closet bungee time for her mother before tearful hugs and apologies, had several profound impacts on blue then-Filly. She learned to emulate human behavior (which was fun anyway, and made her feel more free than her programming and mother’s expectations allowed), to disregard the rule of Fluffies without hating them, and endure pain; she was praised by her human father when he noticed she no longer cried (whimpering instead before moving onto just groaning quietly) when struck by Mitzy. She also did not demand a treat when one was not given, though it was more that the compliments were her reward than not desiring a reward at all. She would have been quite happy with that life, were it not for an exchange on her one month birthday between Cindy and Mitzy. She listened to the voices in the kitchen while the human father scrolled through his music list for a good song to put on for some free form dancing.
“Nee Babbeh back! Gib miwkies, gwow biggew!”
“She’s busy right now. Besides, don’t you want her to get stronger too?”
“Babbeh need be biggew fiwst. Den get stwong.”
“That’s not how that works. Before Roy started making her dance she looked like she was one of those limbless Fluffies from the shelter commercials with all the fat going up to her knees. Now it looks like she’s getting some muscle.”
“Nu need muscwe, Babbeh am Fiwwy. Stawwions hab muscwe, if Stawwion nu stwomgew den Mawe den nu good fow speshul huggies.”
“You mean sex? She’s not getting any “special huggies”, she’s a pet. So are you.”
“Nuu! Need speshul huggies, make Fwuffy Mummah-mummah!”
“You wanna be a grandma?”
“Yus! Nu make nu mowe Babbeh, huwties too much. Wan Babbehs, Fiwwy make Mummah Babbehs.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Hoomin was gud Babbeh, made Mummah Kimmy?”
“I made Kimmy because I love Roy, and one thing lead to another.”
“If Fiwwy wub Mummah, she gib Mumah wotsa gud Babbehs.”
“Wow. You even have the guilt trip down.”
“If Babbeh nu gib Mummah wotsa Babbehs, den Babbeh desewb guiwties and Sowwies untiw make Mummah a Mummah-Mummah.”
“Hey Mitzy, know what time it is?”
“…nu?”
“Its sorry bouncy closet time.”
“NUU! NU BOUNCY CWOSET! HATE BOUNCY CWOSET! MUMMAH NU DESEWB BOUNCY CWOSET! HATECHU CWOSET, NU SOWWY! NEBAH SOWWY!”
Mitzy’s voice faded upwards until it was only a vague muffled sound and light thumping. Blue then-Filly was still looking up the stairs when a song came on. Come On Marianne, which she interpreted as a kind of hula dance with self-hugs during the slower parts and the chicken dance in the fast verses. But blue then-Filly’s mind was full of that strange idea. Making babies? But she was a baby. Why would she make them? Wasn’t she good enough for her mother? But why didn’t Cindy want them? If she was Kimmy’s mother that made her a Mummah-Mummah (the programming in her head gave her the message there was a word for that, but it came back blank). Why did a Fluffy want to be a Mummah-Mummah but a human didn’t want to be a Mummah-Mummah-Mummah? Was blue then-Filly bad, or was three Mummah’ing bad? The humans singing ‘baby’ frequently did not help, and when the song ended she fell backwards on her back with back legs in the air, completely in thought.
…
Blue Mare felt herself being picked up. She was trembling all over and felt cold. Her belly hurt so much that she couldn’t force herself focus on it so she could guess how her injury was. The stiffness in her joints discouraged looking at it either. Instead she felt her babies, further down from the pain. Their movements hadn’t changed, but she was worried. Part of her brain, not the part that gave her words, said babies can’t be exposed to this much worry and something bad was happening soon if she couldn’t be happy. She was wet with sweat, nausea providing a throat full of mucous as her body anticipated vomit, hooves like ice. She had already forgotten she was moving, and was surprised to feel herself being set down again on her back, some objects in her peripheral vision around her. She kept her eyes on the human, fully aware of her own vulnerability with all three parts of her mind in agreement to wait to let her rapidly beating heart and escalating internal temperature do the work.
After glancing around the table the human locked eyes with her, and instinct commanded she look away; she was in no state to establish a herd hierarchy now. The programming commanded her to listen to his words, though they sounded like they were coming through hooves over her ears. “If you’re in there little girl, you gotta not fight me. This is gonna be hard and I need full control here.”
Her conscious mind barely heard the words or understood them, but the rest of her brain took over. She relaxed her tense stomach muscles and responded to the wave of sharpened pain it brought by lifting her soft hoof to her mouth and beginning to suck on it, flexing the toes beneath the gigantic modified paw pad. She let her eyes slide out if focus as memory replaced reality.
…
Blue then-Filly was only a few weeks off from being a Mare when she began sucking her hoof. She hadn’t been weaned so much as starved when Mitzy escaped their wonderful home by taking advantage of visiting cousins who “Thought it was an outdoor Fluffy”, carrying blue then-Filly by the scruff of her neck where instinct made her silent and sluggish. Kimmy had been deciding on what to name her, but hadn’t made it formal yet by declaring it to be her name so the voice in her head had stayed silent and her mind still categorized herself as “blue baby of Mitzy”.
Blue then-Filly threw a fit when she was set down, but a very hard smack to the belly and an ear ground into the dirt followed by silence when blue then-Filly called out to her human for help made the new reality set in immediately. Mitzy’s endless grousing over the next week and her retelling of her life’s story, heavily fragmented, biased, and out of order taught blue then-Filly much about the world. The infuriated mother had become more and more resentful of the family, and the intended name of her baby had been the final straw. She’d left the herd to be with her ORIGINAL family, to fix the mistake of having been left by the woods during a trip to get another Fluffy as a Foal, not to be adopted by this new human family. Only that family, or a Smarty, got to give the baby a name. Mitzy considered giving her a good name, a name that made sense, but she was aware human words were magic and the baby could be renamed just like how she’d lost Violet to become something as ugly and meaningless as Mitzy. What even was a Mitzy? Nothing beautiful, or sweet-smelling, or edible probably. Definitely. Dummehfinitely!
Street to street, parking lot to parking lot they trekked. The town was mostly neutral towards Fluffies, since harsh winters and proper city management kept the feral population low and mostly good-natured, allowing Mitzy to walk the middle of the street proudly while her daughter panted and attempted to keep up behind her. Though free hay was provided at the trough in front of the shelter (vastly improving the smell of the sleepy community), Mitzy felt she was too good for it. Her palette was too refined (with junk food, nuts, and high grade kibble) to stoop to such desperation (and the belief that a Fluffy’s feces ought to be properly liquid instead of the pellets of the dim-colored ferals was too important to her, for Mitzy adhered religiously to the default programming and instinctual ideas of things, and the inability to spray shit was like a heresy against Fluffiness).
Blue then-Filly was almost the same size as her mother, with far more muscle beneath the fluff, but she was entirely unprepared for the barraged of junk food that turned her gut flora into a mass extinction event. Blue then-Filly had been keen on self-grooming and was capable of cleaning most of her body after watching enough cats do it in videos, but she gave up after spending a solid minute on day four gushing nearly jet black sludge out a chapped and bleeding posterior courtesy of an almost full bag of low-carb vinegar chips left from a burst garbage bag behind the museum after a school field trip. Mitzy thought little of it, having stuck to standard sweet corn chips the children threw to (actually at) her. On day fourteen the two engaged in battle against a dangerous foe over an overturned recycling bin in an alleyway before a rainstorm. ‘Battle’ would be a generous description for the enemy reaction. Two Fluffies screaming at the top of their lungs and aggressively stomping (the younger putting up an intimidating display worthy of her genetic ancestors among the mustelids, the older looking more like a bouncing wind-up stuffed toy) versus a family of nineteen rodents. But these were no city rats, and the field mice who were migrating through the city chose to put up with the damp rather than the larger mammals as they slipped one by one off into the night. Despite the fierce display and the comfort the sweet-smelling vessel provided, blue Mare unknowingly had put her hoofpad in her mouth while riding out the fear that Mitzy’s amplified snores caused her instincts and the anxiety her programming gave her due to the strange and unnatural sound of rainfall on the thick plastic over her head. Though first shocked by the taste of mud and grass stuck to the hoof, she soon returned it to her lips and closed her eyes. An odd comfort came from the activity, the flesh of the thick frontal ridge and softer inner crease giving her something to lick and suck as the memory inverted on itself. The injured blue Mare of the present remembered remembering being a of blind Chirpie in a world of warmth and sweet sleepy drinking.
The spring began to show its age as the rain became less frequent and the smells of fresh blooms gave way to turned dirt and cut grass. Mitzy was pleased when her daughter’s scent changed but aside from sniffing her and being excited at what she detected the lives of the two blue Fluffies went on with the same unpleasant continuity. A city worker in a van covered in pretty colors gave them small stuffed toys of Fluffies in the colors of their choice (Mitzy requested a pink and blue rather than blue Mare’s desired black, and they were immediately traded to a herd of Fluffies that controlled the alley behind the rail yard for a half-eaten bag of licorice) so long as they submitted for an inspection and testing (blue Mare, having had the Bestest programming slip away in the month and a half without a word of praise and being of one of those breeds who’s Hellgremlin and Smarty programming was broke anyway, evaded the fate of being isolated and evaluated for culling or domestication).
Blue Mare had been born in midwinter, but their breed was slow to maturity, fancy descendants of the Carpdime variety and intended to be cuter but less fragile and better-natured as a more easy and independent pet. Notable for a better temperament and ability to wrestle a housecat without being flensed, the drawback was a stubborness that gave them their name: Asina Fluffies (or Assffies/Ass Fluffies/Donkeyfluffs as they are commonly known, ruining their mystique as a superior high end Fluffy and resigning them to rural and middle class popularity). Thus the same trait that had caused Mitzy to steal away into the streets of the next town had also ruined her plans from the start; blue Mare refused to submit for impregnation.
She was unaware at first why so many Stallions were suddenly interested in her, nor why it was only some of the time. She was aware her scent had changed and that she had times of tingling unexplained excitement followed by discomfort from her gut accompanied by a sudden fatigue and thirst, but creating babies was still a mystery she wanted an answer to (from anyone but her mother). But, having never encountered a Stallion she desired, her instinct had offered no muscle memory nor had the programming issued a directive and instructions. The link between each phenomena simply did not exist.
The first Stallion to attempt to mount her was a white Unicorn named Wipeout with a blue undercoat and black mane, selected by Mitzy and lured away from his own Special Friend while she slept by a promise of toys for his coming babies. The Stallion was of poorly bred domestic lineage, the kind quite capable of drowning in a bowl of water and prone to believe almost anything that was backed up by a ‘yes, really’. Blue Mare was tired out from dancing for the amusement of the head waiter of a restaurant where they had discovered a protected area between bushes in the outdoor dining area of a steakhouse, and had settled in for the night with her tail swishing from side to side while listening to the conversations at the tables behind her. Wipeout wasn’t prepared for the sleeping Mare to jump to her feet when his weight pressed down on her, which knocked the wind out of him. He was less prepared for the powerful instinctive kick that was delivered directly to his back legs. They slid on the wet and muddy tile of the restaurant outdoor patio tile rather than breaking, though the sprain he received from slipping again while attempting to flee left him shrieking as he ran between the legs of startled and repulsed patrons and back into the night (he would thankfully be returned to his owner the day the missing posters went up, having spent three days soiling himself and screaming for help from the bicycle rack he managed to get stuck in). Mitzy still had no grandchildren, and their cozy hiding space was blocked the next evening by a cinderblock upon which a dead blue Fluffy was drawn in chalk, letting the two know that they were no longer welcome.
The next Stallion was a known philanderer, a Unicorn with burgundy coat and a cream mane named Jojo who was walked leashless by his owner through Fluffy-controlled neighborhoods. Jojo’s owner was proud of his boy’s virility, and encouraged to sow his wild oats as often as possible. Mitzy propositioned Jojo, then lead him off into the next alley. His owner whistled and gave him an “Attaboy!” which prompted a grinning glance back and a wagging tail before turning the corner. Blue Mare was exhausted, barely able to stand after a prolonged show of intimidating a young raccoon away from the sheltered alcove left by an electric box on the building. Her sleep was interrupted by her back end bucking upwards as Jojo tried to lift her smaller frame up to the sheath of his small penis. Though too tired to fight back effectively the scream she left out brought Jojo’s owner running. Mitzy immediately proclaimed the Stallion had attempted to rape her baby (the size difference between lean blue Mare and increasingly fat Mitzy sold the delusion, as well as his presumption that she was a nameless feral and thus the typical Fluffy deceit tell was irrelevant) which prompted the owner to seize Jojo by the scruff and haul him away with promises of a beating and neutering (instead he was forced to pray for forgiveness then watch one minute of an internet video on consent before the owner couldn’t take anymore and shut it off. Jojo, who at no point understood what had happened, was out on walkies breaking hearts and hymens again twenty hours later).
When winter came the two Fluffies meandered their way through the industrial side of town where there was little food but plenty of shelter. Mitzy tried to reason with her daughter, she pointed out strong Stallions of exotic colors, all four Fluffy variants, brought to listen to their offers of food and toys and protection. But blue Mare was having none of it, and did not want a Stallion of her own. Mitzy considered trying to appeal using talk of babies, but she was aware enough of the selfishness of her desire to just have the litter to herself to be ashamed and not bring it up.
The final attempt came after an argument between the two. Mitzy had physically been pushing blue Mare towards a green and pink Pegasus in the doorway of a warehouse loading bay door who’s large cock rested on the ground merely at the sight of the two Mares; blue Mare shoved Mitzy onto her side, and stomped on the ground at her twice wordlessly. There was a prolonged glare between the two and behind blue Mare the Pegasus had slipped away. Eventually Mitzy stood and blue Mare began walking, for the first time as leader.
They claimed the Pegasus’s spot. Through the winter the two focused on obtaining food, though as the dominant female the biggest share now went to blue Mare, who earned it with dancing and singing along to the radio of the dock workers.
When the warm season showed signs of returning Mitzy’s desire for babies returned as well, having been ignored but not forgotten each night as the two Fluffies shivered back to back and wondered if their next meal would come that same day or tomorrow.
Blue Mare faced away from her as usual, and on a particular early spring night it was not so cold that blue Mare complained about Mitzy hesitating to join her. But having learned quite well by that point to never trust her mother she only pretended to fall asleep.
[See Mitzy’s short journey here. Trigger warning: rape]
Before too long, only moments after the overhead lamps for the night shift workers came on, Mitzy reappeared. Across the street between the two warehouses she paused, unaware blue Mare was watching her between narrowed eyes. Almost immediately she was shoved to the ground by a red Earthie passing by, who as stepped quickly and as quietly as a fat stomping Fluffy could across wet crumbling pavement. He was followed by two very young Stallion Pegasi, one pink with a matching mane and one yellow with the same who were the same breed. Blue Mare continued to feign sleep, coming up with a plan; while Mitzy gorged herself on pity offerings from passerby the young blue Filly would sometimes chat with other begging Fluffies in park areas. She had heard the stories of ex-Smarties, disfigured in battle for dominance and too weak to command respect beyond their attractive appearance and charisma. This waddling red was clearly a Smarty of no talent given his two Toughies were so lackluster.
He was navigating her way around her, but keeping his distance so only a red fuzzy outline could be seen between her eyelashes. His cheeks were puffed even looking at her from the first sight however, indicating his intended aggression. She let out a coo and stretched her front legs slightly, trying to look and sound cute and defenseless. Her ploy worked and he drew nearer. She saw him begin to rear up on his fat back legs, a slower process due to his imbalanced center of gravity. In that time she was able to bolt to a standing position, rear on her own perfectly poised and dextrous back legs and send a hoofpad towards his face. He instinctively turned his head, turning her right hoof that was aimed at his nose into a glancing blow though the shifted inertia brought her left hoof straight into his right eye instead. He howled in pain, turning it into a yelp as he lost his balance and fell onto his back where he was caught swaying while muscle tried to overcome the gravity-obeying fat rolls. Blue Mare was full of panicked adrenaline; she had to do as much damage as possible before he could master the movement of his weight again, before the Toughies intervened. She reared above him and sent crushing blows into his belly to force him to drop his defense, then her real target of his nose took a bash from her hoofpad. The bone of his skull bruised the soft skin, but the scent of his blood rewarded her pain (and caused the two Pegasi to pause in instinctive Fluffy fear as they whimpered variations of “Booboo juice, nu wan.”).
She did not relent. He flailed blindly, screaming an ugly Fluffy caterwaul and catching her face several times but only causing pain. His hoofpads were calloused, but he relied heavily on the weight that now reduced his force rather than amplifying it. She kept beating him silently with the same breathing technique that had enabled her to perform longer dances, and after their hooves collided she suffered more pain from the contact. Still, there was no letting up, and she responded by moving a back hoof to catch him in the lower abdomen; though aiming for his cocksheath, she blindly compressed his hindgut instead which sent his defensive shitspray down his lower body and tail while a urine stream shot up his body over his chest. He caught her in the lip and she tasted blood, and any Fluffy not situated in (for her, untapped) Hellgremlin rage would have been sent screaming. Instead she stomped her back leg again and managed to force him to buck to compensate for the force and mitigate the damage, though he only succeeded in slamming his large hanging testicles against the pavement hard enough to slightly bruise them. Still, this pain sent him into wide-eyed screaming which echoed between the two large steel buildings and the empty street, causing the three spectator Fluffies to void their bowels from the ringing noise. It was quickly cut off in a gagging choke when blue Mare’s hoodpad came down directly on red Smarty’s right eye, popping blood vessels and causing him to bite down on his tongue. The gurgling as he foamed bloody saliva shook the two Pegasi out of their stupor and both seized blue Mare, pink by his teeth to her hoof that remained on the pavement and yellow be looping his leg around her neck and attempting to suplex her.
Red Smarty attempted to roll to his feet, his vision blurry and struggling to breath. Blue Mare struggled against the two Pegasi, though she let out a shriek and allowed herself to be pulled back as pink bit her flat teat after losing ahold of her hoof. They tried to push her down, and instead she stood stiffly and shot each a threatening look that made them freeze. The ragged panting of the Smarty as he attempted to roll back onto his belly despite the severe pain in his lower body caught their attention and the three watched in silence as he struggled. After giving up he looked around to see his foe standing side by side with his (now noticeably smaller) muscle. He tried to give an order but couldn’t make words (the intended command was a contradictory command to help him up and beat her at the same time anyway).
“Dat ou Smawtie, wingie-Babbehs? Dat am ugwy wittwe Cowt!” Blue pointed rudely at him, standing up straighter to assert her height over the two brothers.
“Hghk. Nu! Dat…scheeeep…dat am Dummeh Mawe!”
The Smarty’s ragged breath in was phlegmy with blood, and the exhale through his nose was wet and high pitched like a fussing Chirpie.
“Wookit him! Ugwy, ugwy! Am too Dummeh tu wawkie nao! Nu Smawty, nebah Smawty again, onwy Dummeh! Dummeh fowebah untiw fowebah sweepies!”
“Hghk! Scheep. HATCHU DUMMEH! HATCHU HATCHU DUMMEH ENFIE MAWE!”
“Gu fowebah sweepies Dummeh nebah-Smawty! Gu fowebah sweepies! Fwuffies nu wike Dummeh chiwping, gu fowebah sweepies ugwy Babbeh! Dummeh Dummeh ugwy ugwy Babbeh Dummeh!”
“REEEEEE! HATCHU DUMMEH ENFIE MAWE!HATCHU HATCHU HATCHU HATCHU!”
Still, he could not right himself despite the fuel the anger caused. He was in too much pain, being unused to it from always winning by delivering the first and only blows before. While he wasn’t stopped from continuing to try, he aborted each attempt with a wince. The red of his fur masked the blood running down his face, but it worsened the effect of his severely bloodshot eye that had lines of red blood from ruptured vessels around the iris; he almost looked like he had lost one eye. The scent of feces and urine was unmistakable, and his lovely burgundy tail was now Poopie brown while his matching mane was hidden in the gasoline-soaked mud beneath him.
Still, he was a Smarty, and the two Stallions were too young and too dumb to fight their programming. She was a Smarty candidate according to her scent but had not declared herself that role, so they couldn’t side with her either. They merely stood there watching him, until the frustrated Mare delivered an unexpected blow to pink Stallion’s shoulder which knocked him over. Yellow Stallion stared open-mouthed at his now crying brother before watching in shock as the Mare turned and gave him a similar blow. Though too tired to cause much pain, the morale of the two was devastated. She expected the two idiots to bolt off into the night but instead they laid on the ground crying. Smarty had managed to roll over but not get up, still breathing haggardly and feeling the aches all over his body. She walked around behind him, earning a frantic and tearful “NUU, pwease, nu huwt Smawty, am gud Smawty! Hab bestest Hewd, pwetty Mawe join Hewd an be bestest Smawty Enfie Fwuffy!”
She was going to break his back legs. She hated him and wanted him to not exist anymore in her parking lot. He was too tired to do more than flop them limply. Blue Mare was repulsed at the foul smell from him, worse than the alleys of the city (a diet of discarded spicy chips from sadistic workers thinking it would burn random Fluffies had wrecked his intestinal flora). He was covered in shit and urine, only the vibrant red coat hiding the true extent of the mess. She didn’t want to touch him, and satisfied herself by kicking his sides where it was still mostly clean though the awkward angle kept her from applying much force. He wept, now actually chirping and letting out the prolonged dry sobs of a being lost in their own powerlessness. He had regained his breath but spent it on the wracking self-pity instead. Now even more exhausted, blue Mare gave up the thrashing. Sick of smelling him but wanting to issue one last humiliation, she walked to his front and lifted her tail. While she waited for the attention of the two Stallions (and her mother) the Smarty got a full view of her sex and light blue fluff-covered teats. The picture of feminine Fluffy innocence, in an exotic and tantalizing color (for a Fluffy). A small fire, distant, ignited in his chest as he remembered the Fillies he had claimed in the past. He attempted to get to his hooves, the bruised one giving out and sliding painfully on the pavement while the other shook. He looked up again, just in time to see the anus relax as if in slow motion and after a second full of anxiety it widened to a degree that the Smarty was surprised by (having never been on the receiving end) as a gush of brown liquid shot toward him. He may have partially looked away had the sight of her folds opening to reveal a nub and a pinprick hole not distracted him, having never seen a Mare urinate before (it always happened beneath him, or from a quivering rump before mounting). The foul liquid hit his good eye, forcing him to turn instinctively and leave the swollen eye he could not close to take the rest that blue Mare had to offer.
When she was done she swished her tail in its relaxed state to wipe her bottom and flick it in his face, then strutted away as he let out soft and almost pitiable Huuuhuuus.
Mitzy was frozen watching. She didn’t move as blue Mare walked up to her, she couldn’t accept the reality of it. Blue Mare glared at her with intense hatred, but Mitzy merely looked lost and confused (this isn’t how it was supposed to go; Mares go to Stallions, Stallions mount them, babies grow while the herd protects…)
Mitzy suddenly changed expression, which blue Mare took generously (and regrettably) as remorse. They left the next morning. Blue Mare was sick of the warehouse row.
…
There was yelling. Everything was cold and she couldn’t stop shivering, aside from the places she was too hot. She exited the memory like a vacuum sucked her back into the present, but she wasn’t fully attached. She could feel her heart beating, like it was as big as her whole body. She could feel it everywhere. In her cheeks, ears, hoofpads, and especially her lower belly. She couldn’t move her head to look down, it felt too stiff to even start to try. She wasn’t sucking her hoof anymore but her mouth was still open. It took a few seconds of trying to feel if there was any drool to wipe off to realize she was screaming. No, not screaming; she was croaking, gasping, hyperventilating.
She couldn’t feel her babies but somehow she knew they were still alive; some part of her unconscious mind was keeping track of things. There was Fluffy voices, human voices. She couldn’t focus on any of it though. Everything was distant, and she could only assemble one idea at a time. She wanted to move, stand, run, and hide, but instinct said to stay. But it also wanted to run, and the conscious mind remembered her Special Friend, remembered the humans, remembered the other babies, and how everything seemed it was going to be okay. The other Fluffies were gone now, aside from the sound of peeping. It made her happy, but her ears couldn’t decide if they were going to play a lot of sounds very loudly, or one sound very muffled. She couldn’t stay focused on it, and tried to distract herself again, but this time her mind wouldn’t allow it. Something felt very strange.
She forced her eyes to focus, and saw the human standing over her. Something smelled bad, and after her eyes drifted down to the attention-grabbing dark spot she saw the baby in his pocket had let out bad poops and it ran down his front. She hoped the baby wouldn’t get punished for it, since it was just a little baby and because it was brown the human would hurt it even more.
“I’m not going to hurt a baby, and brown is fine. Don’t worry, just keep holding still, I know this has gotta be uncomfortable.”
She wondered if the human could read her mind.
“You’re mumbling, I can’t hear you.”
She didn’t understand what that meant. But she wanted to know what was happening, why it felt so strange. She tried to move, but everything felt so stiff. Then the human gently put his fingers behind her head and tilted it up while saying something. She saw her belly noodles, but they weren’t as far out as before. There was a big metal thing in the hole furthest from her face, but she was too delirious from fever to think much about it beyond thinking the yellowed-silver shininess was pretty and made her think of Special Friend. But then the human lowered his other hand and saw he was holding kind of small and long metal hoof, which itself held a sharp metal thing. Very sharp, very sharp, small and sharp, it was going to hurt! But she was too tired, too dazed, to do anything.
“Its okay sweetie, I won’t let anything happen to you. Just…just look at the baby, okay? Look how happy it is.”
The sound of blood pumping in her ears had receded, and she could hear chirping baby babble sounds. The memory of Foalhood replayed, but this time in the background. Instinct would not let her fully escape reality right now.
The human’s fingers went on each side of the belly hole at the end closest to her teats and began moving them. Pain, squirmy feeling. Her legs in her peripheral moved like she was a Splorin again and trying to push herself on an invisible carpet. She couldn’t feel her legs and her lips were numb like her developing baby face had been when she was blind and struggling to make her first word sounds. She pooped out her stored sorry poop ammunition, then the contents of her rectum that built up since she had been mauled. Thankfully she still had the muscular strength needed to reduce the pressure and keep sprayback off her hindquarters while she was a begging stray, which made it a steady leak.
“Now aren’t you glad I put the cookie sheet under the table?”
“Its getting used for food again. I don’t want you to complain about it later.”
“Whatever, as long as you wash it well.”
“Of course I have to.”
“Your house.”
“Which you aren’t paying rent to live at.”
The baby was burbling drool as it swayed slightly with the human’s arm movements, closed eyes pointed at her.
The sharp thing came down. The other hand lifted the skin and she saw the other side of her fluff. Red, like the Smarty. She was so far from being the strong Mare that broke him, the memory now painted with the realization of how fragile she really was, the awareness not just of what was in Fluffies but that it was in her too, so many horrible things she had seen replayed in her mind but firsthand; the terrible empathy of the traumatized. The human had both hands out, so what was holding her up was the other human. But she imagined it was Special Friend, remembered the first embrace, the first mating, the first time falling asleep with her face buried in lover’s fluff and feeling for the first time in over a year that she had a home. The start of this terrible day started to play, but the baby saved her from it when it reached up and touched its own face, then squeaked and did it again before giving a satisfied laugh at the discovery of what it could do. She loved this baby now, wanted to protect it. When her babies were born it would be the oldest sibling.
“Shit, you’re pregnant?”
“Damn, this is better than a sitcom.”
“Shut the fuck up dude. You sure you’re pregnant? You’re not very big.”
They were still very small. It had only been days since she had made them.
“Damn, must be the size of ants.”
The other human was indeed behind her. He could read minds too.
“That’s right, I’ve got the best seat in the house where I can see all your deep dark secr-“
“Andre, stop. Fluffy, you’ve been babbling since I put you on the table.”
Strange. She couldn’t hear her voice. Or hooves or tail.
“Because I ATE THE-“
“STOP. NOW. I need to concentrate.”
The baby was so cute, it was smacking its lips an-PAAAAAAAAIN! The pointy thing poked into the space next to the human’s finger and went into her skin!
“Huh, I guess they really do make that kinda ‘hyu hyu’ crying. I thought it would be more of a scream.”
“It gets louder, then gets quieter as they run out of breath. Eventually they close their mouths and just sob.”
“Never took you for an Abuser, Sam!”
“I’m not, my family kept Fluffies and the ferals would get into fights outside the fence sometimes. Same cry, tantrum or beating.”
“Reminds me of you when you were a kid.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, seriously. Its kinda creepy. They sound like little girls, and the big ones like little boys. Or little butch girls, but I figured the screaming and crying was like animal sounding. Do Abusers mute them first?”
“No, opposite. Agh, fuck this is delicate! No, they enjoy the screams. I read their forums a lot when I was an early teen, for some it’s the best part.”
“Damn. That’s fucked up.”
The thing was going in, moving through her, a point was forming under the fluff above on the other side of his fingers, the feeling was far away and also right here everywhere, the sharp thing appeared through her fluff and suddenly was mostly though. Then the human grabbed the other end with the metal hoof and started pulling and PAINPAINPAIN HURT BAD as her skin resisted and pulled up with it before the entire thing came through, and she saw a hole at the end with brown string still coming out of her (the fact it was going into her opposite the wound was blocked by Sam’s wrist). She didn’t know what it was but it belonged inside!
The human was pulling things out of her! But why?!
Because she was bad, said the strange voice inside her. But she wasn’t bad! She was always good! Humans hurt bad Fluffies according to the voice. She didn’t know she did anything bad, but never would again if it told her!
The human was yelling. The baby was crying. Everything was muffled again.
Then hot breath behind her, like her mother when she was first bad. The human who ate her tail and hooves, he was going to eat the brown string!
“Calm down baby girl. I was just fucking with you, you’re fine. That string is, uh, medicine. To help you feel better, and make your tummy pretty again. Just be calm, be good. I’ll give you something good, something you can share with your friends.”
Friends? Her friends were dead. But her sister wasn’t! Nor were her babies. Good food, for good Fluffies. She would be a good Fluffy for friends and food. Her legs obeyed the thought, they stopped moving (mostly, and just shook a bit and twitched a bit every few moments).
“Yes they did. You’re such a good, strong Fluffy. I think I’m going to enjoy playing games with you.”
“Andre.”
“Relax Sam, she’ll enjoy them. Mostly.”
Something felt wrong again but she didn’t look at her belly. The baby was still fussing, and gasping. It was hungry but she couldn’t feed it; her teats had only just started getting bigger.
“Good point. We still have milk?”
“Yeah. I figured you drank right from it and was leaving it to you to finish.”
“Aw, Sam. You know me so well.”
“They need special Fluffy formula though. Cow milk won’t have enough stuff in it.”
“Stuff?”
“Yeah, Fluffies grow really fast so they need a lot more nutrients. I’ll go pick up more once I get washed up after this.”
“Pick me up a soda too, and if you’re stopping by K-Mar-“
“Not. Now. Pass me the forceps.”
“Needle nose pliers, doctor.”
“Whatever.”
PAIN AGAIN. The sharp thing was going through her again, closer to her face! But the skin was together where the wound began. It didn’t hurt as bad as the first time either.
She winced as it moved through and came out the other end. He moved the metal hoof, the pliers, from pushing the back through to pulling the front out the other side of her. The other human reached forward and cut off the sharp thing, and the first one looped the string twice around the pliers. Then he grabbed the end of the string that didn’t have the needle on it using the pliers before using his fingers pulling the end where the needle had been. Like magic it went into a pretty and loopy bow! He pulled and the skin came back together. It looked like he was healing her! The fluff matched up again and she couldn’t see a hole! He did it again, but only looped it once. One more time, but around the pliers the opposite way. He gently pulled it slightly so the knot was on the same side of the wound as the lower stitch. Then the human behind her cut the string while the first human threaded the needle again. It looked a bit ugly, but disappeared into her fluff fairly well.
This time she watched the process silently. Numb fascination (and just plain numbness) kept her still, front hooves bending to almost touch her foreleg while her ankle was level with her chest, and back ones splayed in a relaxed froggy-position, as the human did it one final time. Then he set the tools down and just looked at her. She met his gaze. His hair was an ashy blond, a higher grade Poopie by Fluffy standards though the programming didn’t press against her acceptance of the color like it did for the other Fluffies. The human-Sam?-Sam’s eyes were brown like his hair, and his skin was flushed Fluffy pink from the strain of keeping his hands steady so long. He looked skinnier than her old human owner’s father, and she hadn’t noticed before that was wearing a blue chest cloth; that immediately put her more at ease. The baby had fallen asleep in the pocket, the ears and top of its head poking out. She was shifted and felt the other human, she forgot his name, setting her down. The ceiling was white like it was full of clouds. Everything became fuzzy and warm, and she hoped she didn’t get rained on because-
…
…
…
…
When she woke up she was with a Fluffy. Everything hurt so badly. It was all she could do to not whimper and cry, but she didn’t know where she was and learned feral instincts told her to keep quiet when confused. Everything felt sore in a fuzzy kind of way, she could feel her heartbeat in her hooves and ears again, and her belly felt hot. The memory of the surgery came back, but she refused to let it play. There was time for that later.
She snuggled closer to the other Fluffy. Her nose felt cold, and she couldn’t smell who they were, but it did not matter. They were hugging her, and all three parts of her mind agreed that this was good and everything was going to be better. The other human, Andre, said something but it was muffled. Her breathing slowed to calm, deep breaths and another memory of things getting better came.
…
Blue Mare was in shock. After having traveled to live on the outskirts of the city where she could dance for the older folks that lived in the hills she had put in the work to find shelter for the two of them. An old abandoned filing cabinet that had fallen from the road and down the hill to rest in a field of yellow flowers that showed no sign of recent humans (since those flowers were scotch broom). One of the drawers had collected rainwater for drinking, the other on its side made a perfect location for storing food. No alterations were necessary, since the cabinet faced east to catch warmth from the rising sun but provided shade in the afternoon for long naps.
Mitzy was quiet. She made no effort to build a nest, which allowed blue Mare to make a finer one using mosses collected from fallen branches. Blue Mare decorated it with the yellow flowers, which Mitzy ate once until the ensuing day of a rumbling belly with no relief out either end taught her not to mess with blue Mare’s homemaking. For a week blue Mare trekked alone to the homes of the modestly affluent humans and danced for treats; while watching from an alley between the block and trying to decide which houses to try, she saw the squirrels (a word she knew from her time in the park, as well as general awareness of how to coexist with them) going from yard to yard and the reactions. The house where a young man shot one with a pellet gun she avoided. Another where an older human female and a human Talkie male came out to hand feed them peanuts was fair game and became her most frequent target.
The boy would giggle as she performed a mix of The Twist, Poker Face, and Ooga Chaka Baby before a wicker basket containing sandwiches and fruit for herself and her mother (which was expected to be returned) was brought out. One time, a pretty white bow was tied around her neck. Another, a small elastic bracelet was placed around her leg. Best of all was the praise, compliments and congratulations. What she wanted more than anything.
After the close of the second week since leaving the industrial area, she was feeling great. She quite literally was a prancing pony, strutting about the neighborhood and back to the woods on the side of the road. She felt powerful, skilled, wealthy, and clever. Mitzy seemed to sleep all day until food came, and had started becoming noticeably obese. She also would always store her fruit, eating only the sandwich. Blue Mare thought little of it, since it was a good idea to have a surplus. She even added her own fruit frequently.
There was no way for her to predict the sudden change when one morning she awoke to the sight of four Toughies surrounding her, Mitzy behind them. She had been caught entirely unawares, and was on her side and still groggy from sleep. But they made no motion as she got to her hoofpads and stared them down. Each was an adult, more than a year old. Far more of a threat than the two Pegasi had been. But no demands were made, so she merely glanced at each of them in turn while waiting for one to charge. Instead there was the slow but deliberate advance of a yellow Earthie Stallion with a cream mane. She lowered her front legs and let the tension fill them, but he continued walking and looking her over. His stance was not aggressive. She reared up and stomped the ground, but he showed no change; a neutral expression remained.
He slowly walked in a circle around her while she kept her head trained on him and ready to buck or kick. He eyed her side and leg muscles, her posterior, then back around to her face. He began to move close and she stamped again, baring her flat teeth while preparing to growl. He merely made eye contact and held it before slowly, purposefully, blinking for a few seconds. An instinctual acknowledgement of intent not to harm. She remained in position but allowed him to come forward. He looked closely at her fluff, studied the light blue “freckles” visible where the fluff parted on her shoulders, gently parting the strands to see the deep, rich blue that extended down to where her pale pink skin began. As he walked past her face then turned around to walk behind the Toughie line to see Mitzy she caught his scent. It was…interesting. He didn’t smell like a Toughie though he did act like one. Her mind struggled for what he was. The programming shoved something into her mind, but she couldn’t understand it. It was jumbled, incomplete. Something Smarty, but…not? All that instinct could tell her was that he was a very good Stallion.
“Gud cowew, stwong, cwean. Am gud Fwuffy Mawe.”
She was taken aback. Compliments? From another Fluffy? She had never gotten that before. Merely catcalls, or placation attempts from a victim of her attacks against would-be partners. This was new. The discomfort with the situation had not abated, but she felt less sure of the need to strike. Then she heard Mitzy.
“Su gud Babbeh den? Gib Mitzy wotsa gud nummies fow Babbeh?”
Blue Mare’s rage boiled over, her focus suddenly shifting.
“BAD MUMMAH! HATCHU! FWUFFY FINK OU STOP TWYIN MAKE FWUFFY HAB BABBEHS, BE HAPPY, DEN OU GIB FWUFFY AWAY?!”
“Mummah nu need ou anymowe. Nu wongew tiny Babbeh, nu cute anymowe. But su pwetty, make Stawwions su happy wike bestest Mawe should. Ou nu wan gib Mummah new Babbehs, but ou gon gib a hewd Babbehs instead. Mummah hab hew own nyu Babbehs soon.”
Sure enough, this was the first time in fourteen days blue Mare saw her standing and indeed her belly was almost touching the ground, teats swollen with blue veins visible. Though Asina Fluffies do not become immobile like some breeds, a Mare would still try to live in such a way that the later weeks would be spent with only minimal movement for stretching and defecation purposes. There had been Fluffies like that in the city which Mitzy had jabbered away with while blue Mare had danced for peanuts (literally).
Blue Mare shrieked and charged forward, only to be bodychecked by a large red Toughie.
“Nu huwt Mummahs!”
Blue Mare started to get back up before noticing with shock that this Fluffy had actual hooves, grey and scratched up from what she imagined was crushing bone. Her ears went back, and her pores opened to release sweat into her fluff.
“Teehee, Dummeh Babbeh gun be Enfie Mawe tu Smawty, hab Babbehs anyway ow get huwties!”
The yellow Toughie reached out a hoof and made like he was going to bop her on the nose, causing her to let out an “EEP!” and fall over.
“Huuu huuu, nu huwt-“
“Nu need mowe Babbehs. Hab pwenty Mawes an Stawwions makin Babbehs. Need nuwsies, nu owdew Babbehs tu hewp Mummahs an watch Spowins.”
Both blue Mares made eye contact through the gaps between Stallion legs. Mitzy had a dirty look on her face at the news, which then curled into a sadistic grin at blue Mare’s lack of self-determination regardless. Blue Mare for her part maintained a hateful glare that could shatter ice. She held that gaze as the transaction completed. A previously unseen trio of Colts brought two rattling bags of chips and an open candy bar, Mitzy’s prized food staples. The males formed a box around her to prevent her from escaping and lead her into the woods. She had taken the human’s basket, thinking she would be able to continue her performances for the valuable resource.
As the sound of a crinkling bag came from behind her blue Mare realized why she had no siblings.
The journey to rejoin the herd was short, as could be predicted by how Mitzy had managed to waddle there and back in one night. Blue Mare noticed one of the Colts, a pink and tan unicorn who looked like her, seemed to know where to go, and she studied what he looked for. Green bottle, right at a tree that had no branches on the right side, onwards until a tire, then in the direction of a gap in shrubs by various small animals until reaching a stream. The yellow Toughie and a dingy green and white Colt both put nose to the ground every few moments and sniffed their way, which she tried as well though she just smelled Fluffy scents both fresh and fading. The rest of the males just followed the pathfinders while keeping watch.
As she observed one of the Colts, orange with brown mane, trying to knock a clump of dirt off his hoofpad there was suddenly red legs around her. She panicked and let out an “Eeep!” like her mother but the grip kelt her from falling down. She started to struggle, memories of the Smarty and his intentions sending her into panic, but the realization the legs were still gave her a pause. In her ear came “Dun wowwy pwetty nyu Mawe. We am gud hewd. Gettin wotsa nyu nummies aftew cowd gone, an hab nyu Smawtie. Much bettew dan owd fatty nu gud Smawty. Dat am bad Mummah anyway. Fwuffy’s Mummah nebah wike hew. Mummah pwotect Mawes. An Toughie pwotect aw hewd!”
With one big squeeze he released her, and she turned around to see him giving her a small and pursed smile on his muzzle.
“How ou know Mitzy Mummah?”
“Mitzy was pawt of hewd. Cawwed Viowet den tho. Bad Smawty made gud Smawty Beaw gu fowebah sweepies, den put Babbehs in aw da Mawes. Viowet an bad Smawty’s Toughie Patwick went away.”
Blue Mare just stared at him. For so long he looked away uncomfortably. Then he and the Colts sat up, the pathfinders indicating it was time to move again.
The first thing she noticed about the herd was the smell. For some reason, the pathfinders lead them in past the litterbox trench. Red Toughie stopped her and pointed to a grotesque sight; a Fluffy skeleton, ribs crushed, poking out of the large feces pile. “Dat am owd Smawty. Owder Smawty beneath. Much owdew, hehehee!”
Blue Mare stepped forward slowly, in shock. Her father? As a Filly she thought it was Patrick, and as a Mare she assumed it was a random street Fluff. A voice behind her shocked her out of the morbid attempt to imagine him with fluff. “Dis am wittew howe. Poopies and peepees gu on bad Smawty. Bad poopies get bad boopies. Unnastan?”
Blue Mare did not respond. A Colt and two Toughies walked past her, both lifting their tails and spraying liquid sorry feces against the yellowed bones. Then they let out their actual defecation onto the pile around the carcass. All seven males then formed a line to face the skull on their haunches. Blue Mare was confused at first until the last in line, the yellow Toughie, leaned back and she saw the spray of urine arcing from the tip of his sheath and onto the cracked skull of her father. Then he looked back at her and ordered her to go as well. She moved to the spot furthest from the skeleton and let out all her waste at once. The Toughie looked at her disapprovingly, but said nothing.
The actual herd was spread out among a large number of boxes of all kinds and materials, drug (lines in the dirt still visible from the heavier ones) to form one large Fluffy land. Next to the largest wooden box where two of the Toughies disappeared was a bush, the base of which had a hole leading underground. Several other holes existed there too, reminding blue Mare of the tree hollows where squirrels in the park would go at night. As she sat there wondering what was inside a scarred green Toughie, Arbor, walked up to her.
“Dummeh Mawe! Wook obah hewe!”
She looked at the Fluffy in surprise, expecting a more masculine voice. Then he turned and she saw the source; a small Fluffy, and a Poopie to boot! Immediately the programming in her head split in two directions.
Poopies are bad, they cause bad things to happen to Fluffies so they should be kept at a distance, and cannot be allowed to join any kind of group. On the other, to obey the Smarty and fight on his behalf. Another bit of programming instructed her to submit to him and have his babies.
None of these options appealed to blue Mare. She had seen many Poopies, always from a distance as they knew to avoid other Fluffies. From that distance the programming had not activated, thus she had only become familiar with the sight of the miserable few who fled from her attempts to draw closer. Pity had become so ingrained that the deep-seated resentment could not breach it. But likewise she had no respect for Smarties, having internalized the human response to kick them or stuff them screaming in rage into a bag while humans who would stop a human from kicking a normal Fluffy would merely watch. She certainly had no desire to breed, much less to try with a baby.
The only guidance provided by instinct was the looming awareness she was a vastly outnumbered stranger in a strange land.
Thus her response was measured, curiosity taking the lead.
“Hewwo. Am Smawty of hewd?”
“Babbeh am Smawty. Ou think ou nu obey Smawty?!”
“Am stiww thinkie ‘bout it. Heaw owd Smawty was bad Smawty?”
“YUS! Was wowstest Smawty!! Du onwy bad thingies! Huwt Mawes, huwt Toughies, num Babbehs! Gud Toughie gib sowwy hoofsies tu bad Smawty, tiww fowebah sweepies. Babbeh am Smawty now! Ou du what Babbeh say!”
Blue Mare regarded him. Brown, with a shocking pink mane. He looked to be of the age to be weaned, but the ring around the center of his lips suggested he was still suckling regardless. His limbs were underdeveloped which likely came from still being carried by his court, but he was not chubby; the constant nursing would be all that kept the milk flowing, and not in the quantity it once did. All the Smarties that blue Mare had ever known were pathetic tyrants, bullies who ruled by promising what they could not deliver and threatening all. But this herd was living in a paradise, and such a young Fluffy could barely stand let alone threaten a single adult. She leapt to the conclusion that this baby was simply a good Smarty. She still had no intention of bending over for him though.
“Du what Babbeh say as wong as Babbeh say to du gud thingies.”
“Du AWW what Babbeh say!”
“Babbeh say du gud thingies?”
“YUS! Babbeh make bestest choices!”
“Den du what Babbeh say.”
“Gud!”
The Smarty regarded her for a moment.
“Mawe hab pwetty cowews. Make Babbehs with Mawe’s cowews!”
“Nu! Nu am wanting to make Babbeh.”
“But Babbeh want pwetty fwiends in pwetty bwue cowews to pway with!”
Blue Mare started to reconsider her evaluation of him. Still, he was a baby after all, and thought like a baby would; she likely would have asked for siblings from Mitzy if she had learned about the idea earlier.
“Babbeh want Fwuffy fwiends in pwetty cowews? Fwuffy’s Mummah gabe Fwuffy to hewd fo nummies. Mummah hab Tummeh Babbehs, but nu am gud Mummah. When she hab dem, gib hew nummies fow dem.”
The Smarty stared at her.
“Dat…dat am much easiew den pwotect Dummeh Mawe when gwow fatties an nu can wowk! Mawe am smawt! Smawty gwad ou am Smawty’s hewd fwiend!”
His eyes went unfocused for a moment.
“Smawty am hungwy. Daddeh! Take Smawty tu Mummah!”
With that, the Toughie wordlessly turned and disappeared into a large wooden box with a picture of something floating in water on the side (an old and valuable abandoned whiskey crate, though to the Fluffies it was merely a safe and cool place for the expectant mothers plus the then-matriarch, the fancy bred white and pink Fluffy that was his mother).
“Mawe.”
Blue Mare turned to face the red Toughie.
“Ou nu huwt Mummahs? Onwy want huwtie own Mummah?”
“…yus.”
He studied her. Then gave that small smile again.
“Gud! Come, see da Mummahs and Babbehs!”
She was being lead to the place where the Mares with Chirpies and young Talkies dwelled.
She was strong and proud, undefeated. That day she met her Special Friend. Later that week she realized she was surrounded by Fluffies that were strong and smart like herself, and dealt with her first true domestics and the constant struggle to keep them alive. The next month the herd lost its baby Smarty and all of the males other than the yellow Toughie, who became the new Smarty, and the red Toughie who was broken by the ordeal, but after that she saw the dumb Fluffies start to be punished. She returned the basket, and another human was found playing guitar at a bench; both showered her in compliments and food donations, and the compliments doubled from the other Mares. She was happy. But eventually today had to come, and as she slipped from reliving memory as if it was happening again into fuzzy recollections in the mid place between dream and wakefulness the speed it played sped up, time moving faster while sleep ended until both mind and body were joined in the present moment on the floor of a strange human home.
Weak, sore everywhere in more than one way at once. Sweaty. Stinky. Encrusted in blood and feces.
But she was being hugged by another Fluffy, and the human was gently moving her. She opened an eye to regard him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just checking to make sure you were still breathing.”
How often she wanted to go back to Kimmy.
“How are you feeling?”
She couldn’t survive out there like this. She couldn’t find her Special Friend or take care of her babies.
“Little girl?”
The programing filled her mind with good things, and the command to be owned by the human. She would obey, in the same sense she had the small Smarty.
She struggled to speak but only let out the croak of air moving past lips.
“Hey, sit tight, I’ll bring you water.”
She nodded off for a moment, waking as the human gently lifted her out of the embrace of her companion. He lowered her muzzle to cold water and she began drinking it in, his hand around her chest to keep her from falling in and his fingers around her temples to keep her nose above it. While drinking she felt the Fluffy hug her from behind again.
When he lifted her face up, she let out a shaky “Ta-nk…ou.”
“No problem.”
Then the other human asked from somewhere to her right. “Can you tell us your name? I don’t really want to get the cops called on me when I start saying ‘come here, Little Girl’ all day.”
She had no idea what he meant, but an idea came to her.
“Nu h-hab namesie.”
The exhaustion was strong. Her head was no longer swimming, her senses normalized. But she was so tired. She had to get it out before she slept again or the humans decided.
“Huh. I guess you wouldn’t. Well, how abou-“
“But F-fwuffy awmost h-had namesie.”
“Almost?”
“Had hoomin M-mummah. Wanted t-to caww Fwuffy…”
She struggled to remember. The programming blocked it, she was never officially named that and was smart enough to know it. But she knew the voice in her head. Knew its rules by now.
“Call you what?”
A command. From the human.
“Pwussion.”
…
Movement. Sound. Darkness.
…
Prussian woke up, but didn’t move. She smelled better, felt better. She was very sore, but felt, for lack of a better idea, alive again. She was no longer dying at least.
She listened for a while. The sound of babies suckling came, and a Mummah song. One that was on key, not instinctual and in broken random notes. Curiosity built, but she continued to rest. Eventually she started to feel restless and sat up. She yawned then slowly opened her eyes.
“Speshul Fwiend?”