Inhuman Relations #6
"I accept!" You scramble joyfully to your hooves, abruptly becoming aware again of your rude nakedness and flicking your tail in equine annoyance. "But...may I have some clothes? This task will be quicker to complete if you give me some clothes, as I won't be worrying about it and crafting rough coverings for myself. You do want this dragon gone quickly, don't you?"
The genie waves his hand, his brow furrowing at your nerve but makes no comment, and dresses you with a large, white loincloth and chest bandeau that adequately cover your assets, but leave you feeling more feminine than masculine in what is left exposed. Hoping to appease the genie, despite the fury hissing in your stomach, you bow your muzzle respectfully.
"Very well," the genie dismisses you, vanishing with a whisper of parting breath. "Do your brother proud, Cain."
Running your 'paw' along the back of your neck to feel the mane of hair cresting the ridge, you tug self-consciously at the white cloth covering your chest, ensuring that it will not slip out of place. Where to now? You must find this dragon...but where is it? It could be anywhere!
You walk awkwardly from the clearing, as unsteady as a newborn foal, struggling to fall into an even pace with the new joint in your legs. And those hooves! As big as those belonging to a normal Clydesdale or Shire, they simply do not move in the direction you desire, slipping and sliding on what you realise is damp and undoubtedly treacherous grass. Within the first hundred yards, you crash heavily on to your side, whinnying (to your dismay) impolite curses with every fresh bruise. What is the point in politeness and manners when you are not human and there is no soul to hear you?
After some time of walking blindly through the trees, you notice that the vegetation is beginning to thin out, allowing you to see more daylight between the weathered, flaking trunks and place your unshod hooves with greater care. Soon, the grass gives way to a pebbled, sandy wasteland where scraps of life tuck themselves away in crooks and crevices of the mountainside. You swallow uneasily, wondering if you are now low enough down the food chain to be one of those hidden lives, quivering fearfully in the shadows.
No, you tell yourself firmly, strengthening your stride with renewed determination. I have nothing to fear here - I know who I am, no matter what my appearance may be right now. If the genie did not think I could defeat the dragon, why would he have set me the task? It would only waste his time.
The ground inclines upwards and you follow the rise, staying alert for any movement between the rocks, though none catches your wary eyes. Small rocks are knocked aside by your progress and you toss your head, squinting through the dust you raise, despite your due caution. A muffled groan and shuffling sound halts you in your tracks, eyes stretching wide in fear so that you are sure the whites are showing like that of the horses you used to keep in your stables. What is it? It is coming from a cluster of oddly-shaped rocks ahead, each taller than you are and casting ominous shadows in which all manner of deadly creatures may lurk, stalking you, eyes gleaming...
Written by Amethyst Mare on 14 June 2012
