Work Text:
I live in the plains where colorful flowers grow. I have a humble house made out of birch and stone. I live from birch and stone; My tools are stone and sticks from birch trees. My armor is stone, and I feel tough as my walls. I have a white horse with brown spots which I have named Winter.
On this particular early morning, Winter was restless. I did not keep him on a lead, and he was free to roam the plains. He had gone near and far quickly that morning. He would push his nose between grass blades to sniff the ground. He dragged his nose across the ground, splitting the grass and exposing the dirt. To me, watching him sniff this way was irregular. He did not eat the grass, but he pushed it around with his nose. The pigs and sheep were not impressed. They acted unspectacular and clueless to Winter’s concern. I decided to step forward to him. Winter’s focus did not stray from the ground. He would walk and walk without eating, and he would sniff and sniff without stopping. I turned to face the direction in which Winter was slowly but surely headed. In this direction, I saw a beautiful oak forest and nothing peculiar. Winter turned with a jolt. I had not expected this.
With Winter at arm’s length I changed my perspective to the left of where we were once facing. Nothing unusual, once again. And again, Winter turned. No horse was this smart, this quick, this conscious of the world around him. I was always impressed with Winter. He led me behind our house of birch and stone. It was a slow walk around the corner, and Winter didn’t even seem to be looking where he was going. I, too, kept my eyes to the ground, in anticipation of something low or something underneath the surface. Around the corner, Winter perked up. Beside our birch, there was a hoof. Beside our stone, there were dandelions behind bovine eyes. To my surprise, in our plains and behind our home, my horse had found a Moobloom.
Mooblooms are special. They are kind of like folklore. Many people do not believe that they truly exist. I was once one of those people. On this day, I learned the truth about Mooblooms.
Timid and shy, the Moobloom did not approach us. When we took a step forward, she took a step back. We stopped for a second. I was thinking of what I could do when she approached us like molasses. Her snout gently brushed against my hand. Wet! It’s a cow nose. Her eyes were dark and drooped like those of a drowsy old woman. The sunlight fell into them like it was greeting the miracle of her presence. I turned back to Winter. Winter had been watching us with wide eyes. I did not see the Moobloom’s tired expression in equestrian alert eyes. I stood between a familiar friend and a new one. They were very different. They are about as different from each other as I am to each of them.
I was not sure of my next move, but I knew I could not leave my newest discovery weary about me. I decided to board Winter, to the Moobloom’s shock, and ride off into the forest that surrounded our plains. This creature was curious, or so it seemed, because she wanted to come along. She was new to the plains and to us, so maybe she had already had a home she wished to return to. Maybe she simply did not want to be left alone in such an unfamiliar environment. She turned after Winter and I as we rode away. Her hooves met the territory of the oak when we could not see her. We were on our way to the village.
Through the forest were wonderful sights of our natural world. Oak trees grew clustered together there and blocked out the sun with a tangle of branches that could stretch for miles. Further away from the plains lived the bees. Honey-filled hives high against hard oak housed fat bumbling bees. Here, Winter began to huff. He huffed heavy and held to his hooves. From then on, we kept a steady stroll. Luckily for us, this was the edge of the oak forest. We could see the desert village straight ahead.
Once in the village, Winter decided to rest. There, the villagers were nice enough to allow me to harvest some of their wheat. The wheat gave seeds for me to plant my own, but I knew I needed fresh fully grown wheat in order for my Moobloom to feel welcome at home. A food of her own would do the job. I mounted Winter, now full of stamina, and went on back to our plains.
Back at the plains, the Moobloom was gone. We knew, though, that she so loved the forest, and decided to go find her before nightfall.
Winter and I walked back toward the village with worry of the Moobloom in our heads. At night, there could be monsters. Zombies, spiders, and skeletons would surely frighten her more than a friendly horse and a humble impending farmer. When flowers began to dust Winter’s hooves, he realized that this must be where our Moobloom friend had wandered. A bee buzzed past us and it was this bee that led the way. Winter followed the bee, for surely it was because bees love flowers and the Moobloom grew them, that the bee had flown by. This was not the case. The bee entered a hive. Another bee flew by, and Winter grew conflicted. Just then, he sulked. His snout hit the ground. Winter now had a face full of dirt. The impact of the dirt must have rattled his brain, for his expression changed. He was alert again. Without my command, Winter snuck forward, dragging his nose through the grass. This was not the first time today that Winter took me in an unexpected direction. He turned. And turned again. He spun. The aroma of rose petals danced in his nose among lilac and dandelion.
Moo.
Winter and I had both heard her sweet cry.
Moo. Moo.
Winter raced toward the scent of dandelion while the Moobloom became louder.
Moo!
There she was. Moobloom in the forest before sunset soaked oak. She had befriended a bright yellow bee who we watched buzz between her beloved dandelions. The Moobloom’s eyes met mine from a distance. The same tired lovely magic eyes from before. The bee flew above her then, and bumped her on the nose before returning to the hive. Goodnight, bee!
The Moobloom found her way back to Winter and I, and we headed home to the birch and stone.
At home, I fed her the wheat that I harvested at the desert village. She mooed for more. I knew what the seeds I had collected would then be used for. The next day, I would plant them. That night, she stayed beside Winter right outside up against the stone walls of her home. Our Moobloom was safe here. As her eyelids fell, her soppy eyes drooped down to her cheeks as though she would weep. Goodnight, Moobloom!