rusted from the rain {OPEN}

[canstey]

I stumble through the wreckage, rusted from the rain

The soaked black stallion’s long and powerful legs bleakly passed one another in the pattern of forward movement. His head drooped low nearly mimicking his low set tail. An abnormal tinging and thumping sound accompanied every step. It felt as if it had been years since he’d pulled his own black mass from the depths of water and onto the dry shore. It was not a beach, rather a rise of grass and dirt. It had seemed to appear out of sheer random event. He had traveled for an hour since but time had no humans to keep it now. At least, not one that he could spy for as far as the eye could see.

Tronic was tired and hungry. A suspenseful fear kept him from eating and he continued in a weak anxiety, while the english saddle that was still belted to him rattled against his belly. In the torment of waves and swirling depths the thing had shifted only to be wrapped tightly upside down around him. The girth had managed to wriggle up his writhers and was terribly constricting. A white blanket drifted out the side, clinging by a folded and wrinkled corner. It waved and flopped as he walked. There had been times of panic and physical spasm in attempts to free his self from the man-made device. All attempts were to no avail. Thus his tired and lifeless march that took him away from the water and further into this sanctuary.

So much had happened since the great rain had fallen that the beast no longer knew how long he had been at sea. There were times when he had found turf to cling to although it was only shallow spots. Whether he knew it or not, at one point he had been standing atop a city apartment building before the waves wrapped their icy fingers around him again to pull him back in.

Broken reins dangled from Tronic's mouth and the tips tickled the ground as he raised his head and paused his motion. His ears leapt to life upon his great expressive head. His mane, which was cut short by humans and drawn into button shapes for his Olympic appearance, was frizzy and sparsely dangling from his thick neck. An eager, high pitched and short whinny erupted from his throat through his mouth and nostrils. The sound echoed hollowly throughout the vastness before him. The skin on his left shoulder twitched and his tail flicked likewise at his rump. He was scared and his thoughts were irrational. This was the first time since childhood that he had been without fence or stall. Where were the people? What would he do without them.. How would he survive? There had to be someone or something else on this land. His nostrils flared and he became statue still with alert ears..

There's nothing left to salvage, no-one left to blame