Horse Meadow Book One

Eighteen

A man in black stepped out of the truck. Another one stepped out, carrying a weak, but struggling, foal. It had a snip of white on it's nose, and a fluffy ginger chestnut coat, matted with sweat. It struggled again, letting out a long, pained whinny. It called to it's mother, but got no answer. It looked as if it had not been fed in a while. Even if it had been, it was not the right kind of milk. It was probably taken from it's mother a day or so ago, or it would have looked much worse.

If the men had cared about it's health, they would have treated it like gold, not dirt. They had obviously put into distress. It was an extremely sad sight. Most would call it animal abuse, but some would say... that it was the way of life. But if this was truly the way of life, there would be no animals or creatures left in the world.

Another person stepped out of the darkness. He was robed from head to toe in the color of spilled blood, crimson red. He was a disturbing sight, even for someone used to seeing him all of the time.

The two men that had stepped out of the truck with the foal grimaced at the sight of him.

"What do you want for it?", the strange man said. The man holding her answered, "Five hundred. she looks to have good bloodlines."

The man in crimson red gestured with his hand toward the back of his truck, as he agreed. He handed them the money, then drove off with the foal, into the night.