The Faraway Tree
The mare had barely escaped unharmed.
What had happened?
She was so really scared.
She had become separated from the herd.
The herd were attacked. But what happened?
All the mare knew was that it was scary.
Scary Daddehs. But aren’t Daddehs meant to love fluffies?
She struggled to remember, her legs had carried her away. She had to get away.
She knew that there were scary Daddehs out there. But how could she know which Daddehs were scary and which were nice Daddehs?
She was so confused and scared.
What had happened to smarty? To Babbehs? To herd?
Her legs were sore but she kept on moving. She had ran for her life.
She had never ran so far ever.
She was so tired, she felt like she could drop and never walk again.
The source of all the herds’ problems had come from when they went near humans.
Were they bad fluffies? They had to be. Maybe that’s why the Daddehs were so scary. She felt so sad when she realised she was a bad fluffy.
She was such a lucky fluffy to not get hurties.
And the babbeh on her back was lucky too. He was nestled close to her neck and her mane. He was so small and light and still a babbeh.
He kept his eyes closed. Was he asleep?
She had lived through 3 smarties leading the herd.
Smarties don’t always stay smarty. Especially when they go forever sleepies.
There was always a smarty to save the herd and lead them to nummies.
Maybe a Daddeh too?
The 4th was far more reckless and the herd had been led to misfortune.
Did anyone else escape?
The poopie, horny Babbeh was with her.
He had become separated from his mother and his father was the smarty.
The smarty was given a lot of hurties.
So much hurties and a lot of boo boo juice.
He was the first.
The poopie horny babbeh was grown enough not to need milk. But it was still so small. He had still had some of his mummehs milk when he could.
Like there was any other food he could eat. At least Mummeh could give milkies.
The mare wasn’t sure if he needed milkies or not.
She wasn’t his Mummeh after all.
She was a poopie fluffy too. All her Babbehs were gone. He was unlike her though. He could be a smarty when he becomes big.
Time is very tricky to keep track of.
Fluffies only perceive the time through day and night.
There are no fine details in between.
She knew it was night as it was dark.
The babbeh began to murmur.
Maybe he would need milkies, but she didn’t know if she could.
How long had it been since she had Babbehs?
She didn’t know.
The babbeh was on her back and he had nestled at the top, protected in a sense by her mane.
She had missed this feeling.
All her babies had grown, but now they’re gone.
What had happened to them? Did they have babbehs too? Did they find a Daddeh?
She wasn’t sure how far she came.
Was it far?
The night clearly lit the ground, the forest provided cover with darkness and the moonlight provided a path.
The mare was afraid but her legs kept moving forward.
She was sore but wasn’t sure if she could stop at all.
Her fur colour was a dull poopie brown.
She had a small horn too, but she was never treated well by the fluffies of the herd.
She would never be a smarty. She was only a poopy.
Unlike the Babbeh on her back, who was so like her but not like her.
He could be a smarty. Just like his father.
The father she had seen brutally killed.
She wasn’t treated well by the humans either.
She wasn’t sure of her age, no fluffy is.
She remembers being a small filly.
The pet store was warm but no one wanted her.
Her colour and her small horn.
No one wanted a poppy. No one wanted a smarty.
She had cried when she had heard that she was a poopy and a smarty. She cried she was neither, she was only a little babbeh.
The human had let her go.
She wasn’t even worth snake bait.
If she had a name it was long gone.
The mare was feeling exhausted.
She had to stop soon, but could she?
The babbeh on her back was becoming more restless, maybe he needed nummies now?
She stepped through a clearing and the forest was well lit by moonlight.
A clearing in the forest and in the middle, a large willow tree. It loomed over everything.
It looked so pretty.
Blossoms on the tree were illuminated in the moonlight. The grass was quite thick here too.
And at that the mare needed to rest. She couldn’t move much more.
Something about this spot brought her peace. The wind was gentle and the smell of the grass and blossoms blew against her nose gently.
She no longer felt scared. She was just tired now.
She settled against the tree. She felt like she couldn’t move anymore. Her legs had stiffened and she was trying to catch her breath.
The shade of the willows would provide her cover.
The babbeh had crawled off her back as she lay against the tree, her body sprawled against the cool ground.
He was unsure where they were.
Where were they? And where was mummeh? And bruddas and sissy?
The mare wasn’t sure where they were either.
The tree rocked gently under the breeze. The babbeh looked up and gazed at the slow motion.
The mare was right, the babbeh needed nummies.
He didn’t want milk, he had confirmed he was too big for milk. He was a big fluffy now. The mare felt so happy.
There was no other food about, they both had some of the grass abundant in the surrounding area.
The Babbeh hadn’t eaten much, the grass was much too much for him and he needed milkies.
He wasn’t ready yet.
“Whew mummeh?” He had asked the mare.
The mare spoke as she had seen it all clearly. It was like the shock was gone now.
“Hewd aw gun……… Aww hewd aw gun nao……… Munstah hoomins dun wun be daddeh………. gib hewd hewties……… onwy eatin nummies……… Aww hoomins munstah Daddehs………”
The mare began to settle down. The cool air had eased the pain she felt throughout her body.
She wasn’t sure what it was but it felt like huggies. Huggies cure hurties.
She was so tired and breathless but she felt relieved to be here. Away from all the munstahs.
The babbeh had begun to cry, it wasn’t the loud cry for wanting milk or nummies or for huggies.
It was for something else.
The mare had a feeling she knew what that was.
She’s heard her own Babbehs cry like that. And it was like it was automotic, a learned instinct and the most appropriate response. She began to cuddle her body around the foal.
The Babbeh now had no mummah or herd. He wouldn’t have ever been smarty, his father wouldn’t have allowed it, but now they were all gone.
The wind of the evening had eased the mare’s body. She felt funny and loose and like her leggies weren’t there.
The chill was pleasant, it had cooled her down and she could move again more.
She breathed the air, the air smelled so pretty. Like a pretty she hadn’t ever smelt.
The wind rocked the willows gently, shapes of light moved between.
The babbeh had looked at the mare.
He knew she was the poopie mare, the one always behind the herd.
She had cleaned his poopies too. Given him and his bruddas and sissy and Mummeh and all the other fluffies licky cleanies.
But she was the only one left now.
Would she be his new Mummeh?
He needed milk, he’d noticed the mare had a milky place. But where were her babbehs? Would he have bruddas and sissies to play with? Where are they?
“Babbehs aww gun nao wastest babbeh.”
She had turned on her side, and the Babbeh begun to suckle.
There was milk for him, just enough for tonight.
The grassy nummies that the mare had eaten before had been enough to produce the milk needed for her new babbeh.
He’d never been the first to be given milk. His pretty bruddas usually got milkies first, Dummeh sissy barely was given any. He missed his sissy. He loved all his bruddas and sissy.
It felt like a long time since she gave milkies to babbehs. The babbeh made gentle suckling sounds. He had never had so much ever.
Although he had his horn, his poopie fur colour meant he was usually one of the last in line to get milk. His poor derpy sissy barely got any.
He had been made to give bestest babbeh brudda licky cleanies once.
He never forgot how much he cried.
“Poopie babbeh”
“Cn……can Babbeh hav Huggies pwee?”, he asked the mare.
He was scared she would say no.
He hadn’t been a good babbeh to her either in his short life. The poopie mare. She had given him the licky cleanies too.
But here she was, the only one left, and she was his Mummeh now and she had given him lots of milkies.
Mummeh loves her Babbeh.
The mare, too tired to move completely, stretched her leg out and hugged him in.
She brought him closer to her chest and she felt him hugging as tight as he could.
He had begun to cry, he wasn’t sure what he felt.
“Dey heawt hewties babbeh……huggies do heawt hewties…….huggies mak aww hewties gu way” the mare had said.
She brought him in closer, the bestest huggies like she gave to her Babbehs.
They both laid and watched the wind move the willows, the blossoms had begun to fall off.
The babbeh had never seen blossoms before. He was only a few weeks old.
The mare wasn’t sure what they were either. She knew they looked and smelt pretty.
“Can we stay nu-mummeh?” the babbeh asked, his eyes stayed on the falling of the blossoms.
“Nu-no nyu babbeh bu sweepies in nice pwace an nummies an huggies. Nu munstahs hewt babbeh hewe”
The mare couldn’t take facing humans again. She had never been scared of a Daddeh until now.
It didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel like a good fluffy either. Fluffies are meant to love all Daddehs and not be scared.
As they settled into the grass, the breeze grazed gently across the mare’s back, the babbeh had settled into a comfortable position by the mare’s front legs.
Neither made a sound. Unusual for living fluffies. Fluffies are always talking and babbling.
It’s how they know they still exist.
To a fluffy, to not hear others and themselves is to not exist.
But what if they could no longer exist, they could stay here.
They would no longer have to see the munstahs that had brought them nothing but horrors and misery nor would they ever see the fluffies who had shunned and mistreated them.
She wanted to stay here. The grassy nummies were the best, the pretty flowers nummies dropped from the pretty tree. Everything smelt so pretty.
But why did she still feel so scared?
She knew there was always a Daddeh out there who loved all fluffies.
That scared her so much.
There were no Daddehs here. Maybe this would be the best place ever!
The humans never loved her.
And the fluffies never loved her either.
But babbeh did.
A Mummeh and her Babbeh. Living under the tree.
She could feed Babbeh milkies until she could show him how to eat all the pretty nummies and hug and play and smell pretty things and be a good mummeh to good Babbeh.
Sleeping under the beautiful willow tree.
The mare had opened her eyes now for a little, the wind blowing more gently and the moon high up in the sky providing the comforting night.
The mare made a wish.
I’m posting the sequel soon after I go through it