Follow the Hoofbeats Blog Archive on April 26, 2009, 8:30

by HorseFeathers, age 16

Soft eyes. Gentle touch. Warm milk

That much I can remember of my mother.

Until they took her away.

They stole her from me and left me to die in this forsaken wasteland.

Where am I? I am here.


I will find her, and I will seek them out.


As I stand here under the stars of the heavens each night, I remember… The first breath of life streaming into my new fragile lungs. My mother gently prodding me up onto my long, spindly legs. Nourishment. A full belly and rest were the concerns of the