Hoshor Plains basalt ii

The pushy, milk-less sorrel called to her. Silverbirch thought her useless- and merely flicked her tail and stomped a hoof to express just how much she would prefer to stay at her mother’s side-

but the stallion loomed, his body language a mystery to the foal who has no idea what his intentions were. He moved away momentarily and the filly lowered her head to peer at him below her mother’s stomach.

A nudge to her shoulder was gentle but clearly more a command than a suggestion. She squealed, tossed her head with youthful nimbleness (nearly doing an exorcist-style twist in the process) and pummeled the ground with her hooves. She whirled, and kicked out with both hind feet, missing her mother’s side by a number of feet as she toppled forward and bucked and crow-hopped her way over to the sorrel. 

Sour, she grunted and reached to nip with her hard gums at the sorrel’s shoulder before she began to thump her side with her muzzle, willing to risk repercussions for the chance to suckle.