blancexpression

It was easier for her to move through the thick underbrush in the forest than it was for Big Macintosh. He lumbered through clumsily, just keeping her in sight. And then just like that she was gone. He stopped to look around, panic rising. She was still crying somewhere up ahead. And so he pushed on, breaking through to the more sparse part of the forest, just before it turned back into a field on one side and Ponyville on the other. She was crouched down at the edge of the stream, legs tucked under her, wings folded tight against her small body. Her turquoise eyes were locked on her own reflection, watching herself as the rain fell down arou