Having hopped a ride on top of the basket, the tiny flutter listened to the orange giant. She clucked her tongue at him, shaking her yellow and red head. Honestly. Did the stallion really think that she could raise a foal that was probably no doubt 10 times her size? What craziness!
She stared down at the basket beneath her hooves, still bewildered at the thought that someone had left a foal alone in the bushes. Why did they abandon it? Had the mother been forced away? Did she not want it? Was the foal sickly?
Sighing, she shook her head once more, then kneeled down to relax upon the woven basket top, allowing the orange giant to lead them on. She wasn't going to be a mother. Mothers were old and Zahara was anything but old. No, she would help assist in raising the foal until it was old enough to wander on its own, and then she would leave it to its own devices. After all, her mother had done the same for her, so why shouldn't every other foal be the same way?
