Peep didn’t walk this path very often but the path was well worn. It meandered through the lands The Mothers Club called home and beyond, towards a small and quiet grove. The small Acha ambled along with fresh cut flowers spilling from her mouth. Cornflowers, daisies, those pretty red ones she had no name for. Just small gifts so that they knew they weren’t forgotten. Those who hadn’t made it. Young foals found too late. Those born without life. Peep had buried them in that small grove. Not many, but enough for sorrow.
FrostyPeaches
Away we go!