The future · 6:12am Oct 18th, 2017
As the big mare strode away, Copperquick’s eyes fell upon Esmeralda, and in much the same way that he had seen Buttermilk in a new light, he now studied his daughter. She too, was a vessel of hopes and dreams, his hopes and dreams, but what hopes and dreams did he have? He didn’t know. Esmeralda was his gift to the future, his time traveller that would brave an uncertain future that he might not see. Within an eyeblink, Esmeralda became infinitely precious to him, a fragile, wonderful, priceless bit of treasure. Copperquick now had a profound understanding of the value of life, and it floored him.
It also depressed him, because he realised that others—others such as the pony that he had once been not all that long ago—were cretinous, lecherous perverts that would only see his daughter as something to stick their willies in. He shuddered, overcome with some unidentified emotion from the radical shift in perspectives.
He would only walk beside her on this journey for so long, a short precious time. At some point, she would pull ahead and he would be left behind. She would go out and blaze her own trail ahead and he would watch her from a distance measured in a span of age. If all went well, she would find just the right pony to walk with her, and the distance would grow even greater.
At some point after a considerable trail had been blazed into the future, old age would slow him down and each step would come slower than the last, while Esmeralda would be picking up speed. She would see a different horizon than he would, she would have the advantage and be able to peer ahead, to peep at a promising future that was beyond him, beyond his reach.
Some dreadful day, his step would falter, and advancing the horizon would become impossible… he would have to face a fixed horizon, a finite horizon that would mark his end of days. At some point, he would have to stand in place and watch as those he loved became tiny dots in the distance, and eventually, they would venture so far ahead that he would transition into memory, something discussed and remembered in past tense.
This realisation was sobering and Copperquick’s stomach dropped down into his groin.
I'm kindof liking this format: An aside of introspection and exposition, followed by conversation and action.