Another Fucking Story, less fucking though.

>Be a fluffy mare.
>Be feral, you were born a feral, you will die a feral, distant from human influence.
>Actually, you're just in an inconvenient piece of real estate surrounded on three sides by overpasses and a fourth side by a wide river.
>People pass within a hundred feet of you thousands of times per day, but nobody ever stops, gets out of their car, and climbs down an embankment just to interfere with your life.
>But from your perspective, you live in a safe place surrounded by danger.
>Only a few bright times ago, you received a very special hug from a golden unicorn!
>He's now your special friend, but he was just another good fluffy when you met him.
>And then you had babies grow inside you!
>When it became hard to walk, he stayed with you, and when you felt funny in your tummy, and made bad-poopies, he groomed you, and you got a very, VERY special feel in your no-nos.
>Since then he's been your special friend.
>And right now, you and your special friend are curled up at the edge of the fluffpile, with your babies.
>That's right! You are a good momma now!
>Your five babies are beautiful!
>They all look so sweet, sleeping, nestled in our fluff.
>You stay near the big rock that the herd sleeps beside. It's a strange rock, with regular lines on it, and some big bright colors that, unknown to you, say "Cujo Juggalo '13"
>You wouldn't know what that meant even if you could read it, but such is the way of long forgotten graffiti.
>In the tiny fluff pile nestled atop your fluff, one of your babies stirs.
>Such a good baby.
>"Momma?" she chirps.
"Hush bebbeh, Mummeh hewe."
>You crane your neck and nuzzle the tiny golden foal, breathing her scent in deeply.
>Yes, she is your baby.
>After reaffirming your presence in her life, your little filly lays back down, allowing the warmth of her siblings to lull her back to sleep.
>Your special golden unicorn briefly stirs, his hooves twitching in a dream.
>He's had a bad hoof since... well... since you can remember. He doesn't walk on it much, and he says it does not bother him, but you can see the worry in his eyes.
>Reaching out, you run your hoof across his young, strong chest.
>He tenses, then relaxes, reaching out to you in his dreams.
>Finally, in the embrace of an unconscious stallion, you yourself drift back to sleep.
---
>Sleep does not last long.
>"Fwuffy weave sweepy pwace! Hewp mummeh fwuffies, fin gud gwassies! Go tu gwassy pwace!"
"Bebbehs stai wif mummeh, gon' pway in bwight pwace!"
>It's hard to carry five babies with you, they don't listen to you very well yet, so they keep trying to slide off.
>Luckilly, you kneel down just as you feel a baby start to slide.
>It slips to the ground and starts crying.
>"Mummeh!" she squeaks, chirping and making other sounds of a baby in distress.
"Nuuu cwy bebbeh! Mummeh wite heah."
>You pick her up gently in your forehoves, and move to put her on your back
>Another baby just fell off!
>Oh no!
>You start to worry, Smarty friend said all fluffies out of the sleepy place!
>But with so many squirmy babies, how will you ever do that?
>You could leave some behind?
>NEVER.
>okay, that is not an option. You could carry one in your mouth?
>But there are only three babies on your back now, and... two, two babies on you back.
>PANIC!
"Pwease babbeh, be stiww, wet mummeh howd yuu."
>"Waaaa! *chirp!*" "Mummeh!" "Miwk? *Squeak*"
>They aren't holding still!
>Only the black baby and the yellow boy are still on your back.
>"Be gud babbehs."
>Who's that?
>It's the golden unicorn! You Special friend has picked up a baby!
>And now he's putting it on your fluff!
>"Mummeh nee hewp wif bebbehs?"
>He's so handsome!
"Pwease! Cawwy gud bebbehs, nuu huwt bebbehs?"
>"Nuuu! Nefa huwt bebbehs. Gif Fwuffy Bebbehs."
>You pick up the fourth and fifth of your babies gently, and place them on his back.
"Dat aww bebbehs?"
>He looks around, double checking around your hooves and behind himself.
>"Nuu see moah behbbehs. Dat aww behbbehs."
>With your much more manageable group of infants astride your back, you carefully pick your way out to the good grassy place where fluffies can play.
---
>Your babies are so good.
>After their morning feeding, you hugged the little golden girl while the others were suckling, then gave her a chance all by herself afterwards, they all played give-hugs, and roll-over, and pebble...
>All the games you played when you were so little.
>You feel warm inside.
>Briefly, you remember when you were so little.
>You spent a lot of time in the fluff of your mother.
>She was so big! And smelled so pretty all the time.
>And she always loved you and gave you hugs.
>Those were the brightest times.
>You miss your mother.
>You haven't even thought about your mother since... well... since your special friend gave you special hugs and delicious nummies.
>She was a good mother.
>You wonder what happened to her.
>"Waaaaaa! Mummeh! *squeak!*"
>Oh well, babies need you again.
>One of the foals has made not-pretties and rolled over in it by mistake.
"Nuu cwy behbbeh, nee cweaned."
>"Mummeh! Miwkie!"
>And another goes to your teats.
>They are really a hooffull, aren't they?
>Oh, here comes your special friend, he has a mouth full of grass and flowers.
>"Fwuffy bwing nummies fow Mumma"
"Yay! Fwuffy hungwy, nee nummies mae' miwky foh bebbies"
>"Wuv Mumma, wuv bebbies, Fwuffy am happy."
"Fwuffy bwing gud nummies, Fwuffy kee' bebbies saf, Fwuffy am gud daddeh. Mummeh wuv daddeh"
(That sentence, only one word made it past spell check.)
>You finish cleaning the little blue girl, paying careful attention to the delicate tiny wings on her back, before putting her back down with your other foals.
>Then you eat, sharing the biggest flower with your special friend.
>As the two of you nibble the stem from opposite ends, your snouts meet in the middle.
>With lips pressed, you stare into his golden eyes, deeply breathing in his thick, stallion scent.
>You spend an indeterminate amount of time just feeling the warmth of his breath intermingling with your own.
>The simple touch turns into a rub, then a nuzzle, and soon the two of you are caught in a deep embrace, ever mindful of the babies at play near your sensitive teats.
"Pwease Daddeh, stay wif Mummeh."
>"Fwuffy Daddeh nevah stop gif'n huggies."
>You don't know how long the two of you hold each other. Time seems to slow to a crawl, and the light dims to an almost romantic glow.
>Really, it's a period of about ninty seconds, and the change in local brightness was brought about by a swift-moving cloud partially obscuring the sun, but such things as these are beyond your grasp.
>Then a Baby starts to cry.
"*Chirp!* Miwk!"
>With a sharp intake of breath, you release your beloved, and he, looking awkward, does the same.
"Nuu cwy babbeh, mummeh heaw."
>You relocate one of the two golden foals, the colt, you think, to a free teat, and allow him to suckle.
>Your special friend sits for a little while, watching you and the foals play.
---
>Time passes, and the morning progresses.
>Suddenly, you feel an oncoming problem.
"Mummeh nee mae' poopies!"
>Wait, what about your babies?
>You can't leave them! Not out in the open! Something bad might happen!
>But if you stop and try to take them with you, you might make bad poopies!
>No choice in this matter, you are so very sorry.
"Babbehs stay heaw! Mummeh be back!"
>"Daddeh stay wit' babbehs."
>What?
>Your special friend will stay with the babies?
>That's a great idea!
"Ta'ank Yuu Spesha fwiend, Mummeh be wite back!"
>You scamper off to make not-pretties in the poopy place.
---
>Your bowel movement makes you immensely satisfied.
>It also is taking far longer than it otherwise has any right to.
"Pwease gud poopies, go fasta, babbehs nee mummeh..."
>But, try as you might, the poop is just not coming.
>You have no idea what the hell is going on back there.
>you've already shaken your haunches, tried to make a "sorry poopie" (which resulted in a small, unsatisfying, liquid, extra-stinky poopy), even tried dragging your fluffy butt along the ground, all to no avail.
>That annoying thing is just staying in your sphincter tighter than a mumma trying to fit through the weedy-tree roots at the edge of the water.
>At least it's giving you some time to yourself, and to think.
>Mostly, what you're thinking about is your babies.
>Are you being as good of a mother as your mother was?
>You think hard about your mother.
>It's hard.
>But you remember her fluff, it was so thick, and so soft, and so... Violet.
>And you remember when the sky turned dark, but her fluff was so soft, warm, and safe, and her wings held you and your brothers tight.
>Now you feel a deep sadness in your chest.
>You worry that you are not as good of a mother as your mother was.
>How could you be? She had such strong wings!
>All you have is this little pink horn, sticking out of your yellow and red striped mane.
>Oh, you've gone poopies!
>You feel better.
>And now you need to get back to your babies!
>Single-mindedly, you trot past a slightly older mare.
>She's a nice fluffy, so you say hello, and then hurry on your way.
>Her fluff is a lovely shade of violet
>and her wings shelter two tiny babies of her own.
>And you never even recognize each other.