Your Name: fatcat17
Soquili you own/co-own:
GraziName for the basket: Montezuma -- meaning "The Lord Frowns in Anger"
Who will raise the basket, or will the basket face the world alone? he will face the world alone
Prompt Response: (to prompt 2)
It was dark and cramped, with a disgusting odor in that tiny woven prison. He couldn’t wait to get out, and at the present, the only thing stopping him was pounding noise outside that rattled his brain, giving the foal quite the headache. After the pounding had subsided, he peeked out of his prison gazing around at the graveyard he would call his birthplace. He saw an enraged mare, with a mad look in her eyes and strange shadows flowing around her; though he didn’t know who she was he knew she was to be avoided for now.
After many hours, the graveyard fell completely silent, it was silent to the point that not event crickets could be heard anywhere. The foal peeked out of his prison again, glancing around he saw that the mare was preoccupied with something else. With all the sneakiness he could manage, he crept out of his prison and found his way to a far secluded corner of the vast graveyard.
For what seemed like days he would watch the mare in the graveyard and how the others regarded her. He would watch what she did, and what reasons would cause these actions, usually there were no just reasons. He would watch her random fits of rage, and how the others avoided her at all costs.
After some time, he realized that they did not know he existed. He began to creep out at nights, exploring small distances from the graveyard. One night he chanced upon the herd that interacted, although minimally, with the graveyard mare. Among them were two foals that resembled him in a way, they also resembled the mare.
At first he didn’t know what to think. Had they thought him dead so simply? He didn’t know what to make of it; he retreated from the herd not looking back. Once he was back in the graveyard, the foal devised a simple plan. Since they did not know he was alive, or even that he existed, he would show himself, as a ghost. He would haunt them for some amount of time, until he decided it was enough, or until they figured it out and probably came stampeding after him for revenge.
After two days of planning for his grand appearance, the foal was ready. He prepared himself by rolling in some dusty gravel, altering his complexion so that it was pale and sickly. Now he began a slow creep over to where the graveyard mare would be after some time. His first goal was to try and scare her, the others would come after.
The foal stayed behind one large gravestone until the mare calmed somewhat and came near. Slowly, he dragged himself from behind the stone, showing his ghastly body and moaning at this mare who had watched all this time. He barely had time to react; the mare began a frenzied charge straight for him. Luckily, he moved just in the nick of time and began running as fast as he could away from this beast. He ran out of the graveyard in the general direction of the herd, unaware of exactly where he was going.
After a few tense moments of cat and mouse, he finally ended up running straight through the herd, the mare close on his heels. The faces that raced past him were blurs of astonishment, before they turned into hard faces of concern and anger. Thankfully enough for the foal, the herd stopped the mare, by some force unknown to him, and sent her back towards the graveyard.
They all simultaneously turned around to stare at this random chalky foal. It was obvious; the looks on their faces told him that they thought he was dead, as if he had ever existed. By all accounts, he should be dead. All they did was stare, not one of them said a word, so after a few moments are thick silence, the foal bolted. He made a bee-line for the cemetery. He could see behind him that a few of the members of the herd were chasing after him, trying to stop him from going back to where he came from, the graveyard.
Once back into his desolate corner of the hellish garden, the foal decided he needed to be called something. He didn’t know exactly what, but it had to have purpose, meaning, and sufficiently describe him. It took weeks of after hour scavenging, but he finally ran across a couple of pages of words. He didn’t know what the words were originally used for, but they appeared to be in a dictionary format, listing their meaning next to them. He found one word halfway down the second page. It read
Montezuma – The Lord Frowns in Anger. Perfect. This would be what he would be called from now on.
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