newerher3

(Y/n): your name (c/c): coat color (e/c): eye color (m/c): mane/tail color ~~ “They called it a ‘gun’,” the oldest colt told you sometime later. It was the black one, blaming himself for wanting to go exploring and ending up in this situation. He shook his mane, the bright star on his forehead standing out brilliantly even in the dim dawn's light. “That’s what made that terrible shattering sound. They have sticks with lightning bolts in them that hurt if they touch you. ‘Cattle rods’, the stallions called them. They told us it was a gun that killed him, because he refused to be quiet and get behind the metal fence...and they didn't need him anyway.” You were grooming all the foals in a clockwise pattern, taking turns to make sure they all felt secure, one at a time. The conversation had started simply enough; the pinto colt had been nervously explaining that he didn’t know what the strange contraption was on his face, and the other foals were now wearing similar things. “How did