“WASTEST BABBEH! WUN!”
But he was already running as fast as his nubs could carry him, away from mummah, away from the snarling dog. Tears blurred his vision as he heard barking, screams, and silence. But he ran, even as he bumped into obstacles, earning him more than one cruel word or barely-avoided kick.
Soon, though, his breathing grew too ragged, and he slowed to a walk, then to a crawl, before he finally collapsed into a heap, in the middle of the street. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone stepped on him, or a feral animal found him, or he simply died of starvation. But right now, he couldn’t muster the energy to care.
“Peep! Chirp!” he cheeped instinctively, trying to call for a mummah he knew was gone. Somehow, by some miraculous turn of fate, nobody trod on him as he lay there, too tired and drained to move, and day turned to evening, then to night. His tummeh growled, but there was no way for him to find sustenance. He was going to die. Mummah’s sacrifice had been for nothing.
“Hello, little guy. Are you all alone?”
“Peep!” was the closest thing to a response he could muster.
“A chirpy foal, left alone at night? That’s not good. Tell you what, I’ll take you home for now, and in the morning we can try to find your mummah. How does that sound?”
He couldn’t understand the words, not because of his age but because he was too tired, too hungry, and a dark cloud seemed to be surrounding his thoughts. He flinched when the man’s hands gently lifted him, but didn’t resist. The warmth soothed his nerves, and he finally allowed himself to sleep.
He awoke in a shoebox, although he didn’t know what it was. He was wrapped in a clean towel, and something under him radiated calming warmth. But none of that was as important as the smell that had caused him to awaken. A soothing smell, one he’d never expected to smell again.
“Oh, you’re awake. I got you something to…eat? Drink? What’s it called when it’s your entire diet? Oh well, doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’re starving, what with being abandoned.”
He latched onto the bottle, guzzling the warm not-quite-milkies as quickly as he could. Long before he was satiated, though, the bottle was pulled away, and he cheeped in agitation. What was this cruel game?
“Slow down. It won’t do you any good if you just throw it all up. You can have more in a little bit. Try to rest.”
He didn’t want to rest! He wanted more milkies! He was still so hungry! So he cheeped and peeped angrily, trying to get the mean human to give him more. But his protests were ignored.
“Be patient. You can have more in a little while.”
He wanted to continue with his chirping, but at the same time, he was so tired, even more so now that his aching belly was at least a little less painful. And it was so warm, and the towel was so soft. Maybe it’d be okay to sleep for just a little while.
August watched the foal sleep. Here I go again, he sighed to himself. Keeping another fluffy so soon? Well, even if he didn’t keep the foal, he could at least help him find a new home, or maybe his own mummah if he was lucky. August doubted that, though; the foal was likely rejected, or the mummah dead.
Even so, it was going to be hard to find a brown-and-pink colt a home. Especially not an abandoned one, who might have mental scars, and especially not in Old Town, where people were less-than-thrilled about new-fangled bio-toys. August could keep the foal, of course, but…he’d been trying to put that part of his life behind him. Maybe just one more fluffy would be okay, though.
The foal sat in the shoe-box-turned-incubator once more. A long morning of searching had turned up nothing, apart from a lot of feral fluffies that either insulted or threatened him on sight. Life was rough for an ugly fluffy. So now he was back here.
Apart from missing mummah, he had to admit life was better here. More food, warmth, no biting insects or munstahs to run from. If only mummah was here with him. Then life would be perfect.
A few weeks later
August sat in bed and contemplated the mask. He’d have to put it on again, soon, he knew, but he hated it. Every night it bit into his face, just a little too tight to be comfortable. It was almost enough to make him regret his decision to pick Pan up.
Pan lay in his nest, trying to sleep, but there was a quiet sense of unease. Something in the air, something wrong, made him anxious, unable to drift off. His eyes roamed around the saferoom, dimly illuminated by his night light. Nothing was there, but his anxiety made the shadows into creeping monsters, waiting for him to look away so they could strike.
He slowly became aware of a stench, a horrible rotten smell. Then he noticed. One of the shadows, one that resembled a tall human, was moving. Moving closer to him, creeping up on him. His heart leapt into his throat, and he tried to scream for daddeh, but some unseen force had a grip on his chest and throat, crushing his voice into silence, paralyzing his limbs. He could only watch as the monster moved closer.
It soon towered over him, and crouched down, its distorted face only inches from his own. He could feel its fetid breath moving his fluff. It reeked, oh, how it reeked! It smelled like acrid death. He trembled, quivering in abject terror.
It hissed through teeth set in a fixed rictus, eyes glowing with unholy malice. Ragged breathing, sharp and erratic. Soon, though, Pan realized there were words there, deep under the rush of breath. But he couldn’t make them out, and that made it all the more terrifying.
The creature reached out a single, long-clawed finger and ran it along his neck, and he tried harder than ever to scream. Then it turned and walked away, its gait unnatural.
Pan didn’t sleep that night.
“Daddeh?”
“What is it?”
“Pan nu wan gu sweepies. Am scawed.”
“Scared? Scared of what?”
“Nu-smeww pwetty man in saefwoom.”
“Pan, you just had a nightmare. Don’t worry about it. Just try to get some rest and don’t think about it.”
“Otay…Pan wiww gu sweepies if daddeh wan Pan tu.”
“That’s a good fluffy. Good night, Pan.”
Part Two