I watch as the young humans are directed by the tutor to clamber onto Aer, a new mare from the neighboring horse facility. The human children crowd around her, stroking her mane in marvel, and I watch them in silence.

The mothers and fathers of those same children had once clustered around me in such awe, and squealed in excitement as they rode me, as I galloped through the grassy meadows in joy. Those days are over. There had once been a star of Strikesun Stables, a majestic, black mare, that stunned all with her speed and grace.

That horse had been me.

But now all that is left is a weak-legged old hag. I am of no use anymore. My young life I had competed too hard, been ridden too much, and it crippled my formerly strong, lithe legs. So I sit in silent agony, and watch in jealousy as new horses come and go, as they brave their first time riding with a child. Do they not cherish their youth? Do they follow the wisdom of the wise, aged horses? No, all they do is sneer at that silent, wistful horse as they gallop away with their herd of friends.

Though the rebellious teenage horses scorn me, I find rest within newborn foals. My one responsibility, my one love left in life. As they slither out of their exhausted mother's belly, I am permitted to watch, and to assist them when help is needed. During this time, I feel the most respected, which is why I simply do not neglect life and let myself rot, yet I fear the time is approaching. But I am content, and in this long life I have found peace.