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Olan lumbered down the path on his way to his favorite stream. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if he could feel the bubbling liquid flow down his throat. It was the perfect time of year for it as well. The crisp coolness from the autumn air soothed his weary nerves. He kept reminding himself of that every time his hair got grabbed, pinned, and stuck by a rouge branch over the path. For there was only one problem with his peaceful, perfect watering hole. It was a little known location because of its location, the brush had been growing for years undisturbed. No fire had clipped and tamed any branches inline for an easier path. He had really only found it by tripping over a lifted tree root and sliding down a small embankment rump first, his hooves desperately pawing at the loose soil for any decrease in speed. Unfortunately, with his large size, also came a touch of clumsiness.
Olan winced as the memory easily flowed into his mind. He had landed with a hard plop on the flat ground at the bottom of the incline. There had been no curve as the wall met the ground and had not offered him the chance to roll instead of thump. It had cost him a sprained ankle for his troubles, and a sour mood for the next what seemed like hours as he cursed the root at the top of the hill. The next memory made Olan lower his head in shame as the image of him landing replayed in his mind.
He had taken in a deep breath as he continued to yell in surprise. Only this last intake of breath had come at the same time as him landing at the bottom of the hill. Instead of a frazzled mild shock of a scream, his ankle had created something else entirely. His lungs felt as though they ripped from the inside out with the sudden exclamation of pain. It tore at his vocal chords as it escaped his wide and flinging muzzle, spewing words he would never use in front of his mother or any decent young mare. The sudden flood of water coming to his eyes almost blinding him as the pain zigzagged up his haunches, through his spine, and resounding in a thunderous pulsing in every part of his head.
Olan had bit his foreleg to make sure he would not be tempted to mash his teeth together in pain. He was more willing to draw a line of blood there than to accidentally bite of his tongue. It was the only thought that rang clear in his mind as the rest was numbed by the pain. Luckily, if anyone could call anything that had happened in these few moments 'Luck', the pain had started to ebb. Slowly, slower than a stallion of his large size and girth would like, he was able to release his forelimb and access his throbbing predicament. As he looked back at the ankle he saw it had started to swell. When he was able to push away some of his fetlock a slight discoloration of purple had started to bloom under the soft caramel color. His wince this time was not from the pain, but the small amount of pride he took in his looks. Purple was not a good color on him. He could only hope it would not spread too far. A small cough brought his thoughts around again to the issue at hand. Not only for his pride, but for the issue it would declare if the purple raised up into the creamy part of his leg.
Olan was yanked out of the memory as another branch tugged at his hair. His eyes narrowed as he righted his head to glare at the mutinous thing. Mumbling unpleasantries at it till he could loosen and continue onto what could hardly be called a path. His ankle was fully healed at this point, as his memory of finding the stream had been quite some time ago. He may have found a safer way than his first time finding it, but the vividness of the memory had never left him. He drifted back into it as his journey continued. He had been unable to stand for who knows how long. He had not been keeping track of the length of time, but only the time it took him to try and breath through the continuous shooting pain. Finally his mind could think again as he looked around to try and find something he could brace his poor ankle with. He had barely been able to keep in a soft mixture of a scoff and chuckle as he realized even laying down he was able to just barely reach the necessary branches and vines that could keep his injured area stable.
Slowly, after the brace was completed and tied around his ankle, he rose to his hooves. Just barely was he able to keep himself righted. He looked around his surroundings closer now. He had realized he would be staying in this area until he could heal enough to find his way out of the forest. His gaze moving over the landscape as he took it all in.
Olan was finally able to smile again as he reached his destination. Almost at the same time his memory had locked eyes with the stream was he able to turn a bend and lock eyes with the crystal clear water. Its soft babbling welcoming him back. He no longer had the limp from his injury and found it took him seconds to reach what had taken him ages in his memory. Or maybe the memory had been fading, and what seemed to take forever to reach the stream in his injured state had only taken moments. He lowered his muzzle to gulp down the refreshing liquid. All the pain, the explosion created inside him, had been worth it. He had found someplace he called his own, a haven of sorts. And all it cost him now was an easily soothed headache created by reaching branches
Word count: 1,026
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