Happy New Year!

This is a silly story I decided to write months after creating Fluffy. Fluffy is mine and only mine.

Hi, everybody! My name is Fluffy. I am a three-year-old cross between an American Paint horse and a Whinneigh, a rare, beautiful, powerful, magical, majestic breed of horse that live in a beautiful, magical, wondrous place called the Complainplain. I'll talk more about that later, 'kay?

My mane and tail are a brilliant yellow, while my eyes are a mesmerizing dark green. The main color of my pelt is an inky purple; it makes people think of the early evening sky. I have pale cyan markings on my face and body; they're quite similar to my mother's. The stocking on my left foreleg and the sock on my left hind leg are the same pale cyan as my face and body markings, but the stocking on my right foreleg and the sock on my left foreleg was the same color as egg yolk. My front hooves are a fizzy green, while my back hooves are a moderate rose. Got it? Good.

Now, for my backstory: I was born in a Lakota Indian village. My mother's name was Rain. She is a chestnut pinto with stunning blue eyes. I thought she was the most beautiful horse in the world since the minute I was born.

Oh, yes. My birth. My birth came unexpectedly for both my mother and the Indians that owned her, you see. It was raining and snowing at the same time, and my mother Rain was in labor for thirteen long, miserable hours! But after those thirteen long, miserable hours, I was finally born.

I remember seeing my mother for the first time. She looked down upon me as though I were a ghost; I guess it must have meant that she was stunned by my awesome beauty. She didn't clean me like a regular mother would do; I figured that was because she felt my coat was too beautiful to ruin. An Indian woman helping with the birth rubbed my coat dry with a cloth, then helped me to get up on my feet. I was able to nurse from my mother without any difficulty.

Many, many, many months passed, and I grew up quickly. My coat shone in the sun, my hooves resembled jewels, and my eyes twinkled with life. Everyone in the Lakota village—humans, horses, dogs, cats, birds, bears, deer, moose, bison, buffalo, reindeer, insects—looked upon me with wonder and fascination. Some days, I enjoyed their attention. Other days, I wanted to flip them off. Since I didn't have hands, I couldn't do this. Shit.

There were lots of foals in the village, but none that wanted to be near me. I tried to get them to play with me, but they always had excuses to make, like "I have to go to my dam," or "I have to go carry people on my back," or even "I gotta go paint my hooves". There were some foals that would tell me that I was ugly and cursed, and I was a crazy bitch with no self-control or awareness of the world. In return, I told them they were a bunch of bitches and hoes, and had that same repressed urge to flip them off. I didn't have any friends when I was a foal.

When I was a year old, my life began changing in ways I didn't expect. First, my mother's owner, Little Creek, decided to give me to another Indian named Butt Scratcher. Butt Scratcher had just become a warrior. He had a strange look in his eyes, like he wasn't focused, because a lot of times he didn't seem to pay attention to his surroundings, which led to him tripping over things and getting attacked by animals constantly. He would always get confused about many things. I wasn't very happy with my new owner, but my mother told me herself that we must all do things we don't want to do because it's the only way we can grow up. So I had to keep my mouth shut and deal with him as best I could.

Not long after I was given to Butt Scratcher, Little Creek went off on an excursion with a bunch of other Indians and got captured by some evil white men. My mother and a bunch of her friends were with them, so I had no idea as to when they would come back. I began to worry about my mother and Little Creek, and all their buddies. Would they ever come back? Would I ever see them again? I prayed to all our animal gods that they would be all right.

A few days later, after mulling around over my missing mother and her owner, I heard some of the Indians in the village shout and clamor excitedly. I looked out towards the crest and saw my mother, Little Creek, and all their Indian and horse friends, safe and sound.

And he was with them.

A wild mustang with a golden coat, a black mane and tail, and a wild, untamable spirit. Little Creek, my mother, and a bunch of other Indians freed him from some evil white men's camp, captured him, and brought him to our village. Little Creek said that he felt that this horse would be a good mount, given the time and care that he needed.

I hated him the instant I saw him, but for reasons I couldn't understand, my mother was infatuated with him. What did she see in him, anyway? He hadn't liked following orders, hadn't liked the Indians that fed and cared for him (especially since they saved him from the evil white men!), and he didn't even want to be ridden around! Did you see the way he acted when Little Creek tried to get on his back?

In fact, that horse was responsible for my mother's near-death experience! See, the Indian village was going about its business like usual, when the evil white men showed up and attacked us for no reason! I was able to get away from the bloody carnage by hiding in some bushes, but my mother, with Little Creek riding on her back, was shot by one of the white men! I saw her fall into the river, and I saw that demon stallion jump in after her! I was afraid that he was going to finish her off.

Fortunately, Little Creek managed to bring her back to what remained of the village to get her treated. The stallion was nowhere to be seen. Little Creek said that the stallion had been captured. Good riddance, I had thought. I did not want that wild horse implanting ideas in my mother's head.

While my mother was being cared for by our shaman, Little Creek went off. I thought he was going to find some leaves and dirt for the shaman to use as medicine, so I paid it no mind. I stood outside the shaman's teepee every day and every night until I was shooed away by the shaman himself. I went back to Butt Scratcher, who was lying on the ground muttering about seeing "flying trees" and "talking pigs" while holding some smoking grass that smelled funny. He hadn't even been around when the evil white men attacked out village, choosing instead to go out to find some of that funny-smelling grass. Little Creek, however, was gone for many days. The snow came, then melted, and by the time my mother had gotten better, Little Creek came back, and he had that awful stallion with him!

I guess my mother liked bad stallions, because she ran away with him. And Little Creek let her, which was surprising, because I never expected him to do something like that. No one would dare think of releasing their favorite mount into the wild, especially since most of the horses from our village were either captured or dead. The shock of her release and return with that awful stallion traumatized me. I have had nightmares about it ever since!

In the first months following my mother's release, I would look towards the place where I last saw her and hope that she would appear there any minute, ready to return to the herd and leave behind that wild stallion. As each day passed, my hope dwindled down into nothing. I fear now that she is dead, and that awful, awful stallion had gotten her killed or something like that.

But with hope for my mother's return gone, something else came along and took its place: revenge. I suddenly wanted revenge on that wild stallion for showing up, causing my mother to get hurt, and then taking her away. I wanted to kick and bite him until he was a bloody mess. I wanted to push him into the same river my mother fell into. Most of all, I want him dead.

Hear that, Spirit? One day, I will come rescue my mother from you and make you suffer for putting her through so much.

So that's the prologue. What d'yall think? It's been a while since I wrote for the Spirit fandom, but the two stories I had were original works and had to be moved over to Fictionpress (you can get to my FP account via my profile).

I'll see how soon I can get the next chapter done.