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- >You are a worker for the State of New Generica, Department of Fish and Wildlife's Division of Fluffy Pony Management.
- >Otherwise known as the 'Fluffy Pony Judgment Squad'.
- >You've just gotten an odd call from a farm outside of Neutralville.
- >It's odd for two reasons.
- >First, it wasn't the farmer or his hands that placed the call.
- >Second, the description of the herd is strange.
- >It's a fairly small group, thirty fluffy ponies.
- >The caller described them all as midgets.
- >The caller also said that he doesn't think the farmer knows there are any fluffy ponies around.
- >Since he's a friend, he was reporting the herd in case they started making trouble.
- >From the description, it seems like the herd is hunkered down in a stand of oak trees in the corner of a huge carrot patch.
- >You have to call the farmer to confirm the report.
- >He heads to the area in question and indeed says there's a fluffy herd in the trees.
- >Doesn't seem too annoyed by it, but he doesn't object to you coming out and making an assessment.
- >You drive out to the farm and dispense with the considerable walk to the unfenced carrot patch.
- >When the caller said 'midgets', you thought he was joking.
- >They are smaller than regular fluffies.
- >Once you get into the oak stand, you see why.
- >Besides a few younger and older outliers, all of these fluffies appear to be the same age.
- >That age, based on their size, is roughly one week old.
- >It's a herd completely made of foals.
- >Thirty foals in a clump by themselves is extremely strange.
- >While it isn't unusual that all the foals would be together in a set area, there are always adults around to play with and supervise them.
- >The foals are very young, and dams are extremely protective of their kids until they wean.
- >There should be dams and attendants everywhere, but only foals can be found.
- >Where are the adults?
- >Assessing foals is much harder; they know fewer words and are easily scared by even gentle tones and gestures.
- >Better find a big fluffy to find out what's going on.
- >”Wan' mikkies...”
- >If it weren't for the noise, you'd think they were asleep huddled together in a smaller than usual clump.
- >Their eyes are closed, but they're babbling quietly. They're 'hiding'.
- >”Wan' mumma, babeh scawed, when mumma come back?”
- >Most of their speech is not developed as it should be.
- >Constant chants of 'wuv', 'mik' and 'mumma' bombard your ears.
- >Since they haven't even seen you, you quietly creep away and look for the rest of their herd.
- >Experience tells you they would be sheltered in trees to avoid the daytime heat.
- >The oak stand juts into the carrot patch for a hundred yards, but connects to a larger forest.
- >They've gotta be in there.
- >You walk into the trees, searching for signs of fluffy activity.
- >After a few minutes, you finally find an adult.
- >It's dead, its skull having been crushed in by something.
- >After a few more steps, you see three more adults that have met the same fate.
- >The trees thin out ahead, forming a grassy triangle shape that opens into a large clearing.
- >What grass hasn't been grazed has been trampled flat.
- >Dried piles of shit litter the ground.
- >You navigate through them and find a sizable pond.
- >It is choked with the floating corpses of a large herd, at least sixty in total.
- >You have no idea what kind of predator could have done this.
- >Whatever it was, it so frightened the fluffy ponies, they ran themselves into a watery grave.
- >It even drove them to abandon their children.
- >Perhaps a foal has the answer. You walk back to the clump.
- >After listening for a few seconds for the most advanced speech, you gently pick up a dirty green earth foal.
- >”Mumma am hewe fo' ba—NUUUUUUUUUUU, MUNSTA! MUNSTA HAF BABEH HEWP BABEH HEWP!”
- >The foals all shit themselves in nearly perfect unison, the tone of their speech becoming shrill and panicked.
- >It's not much shit; they've not eaten in a while.
- “I'm not going to hurt you.”
- >”Pwease mumma hewp babeh babeh goo' fwuffy fwuffy no wan' owwies owwies ba' fo' babeh no wike dis babeh scawed babeh scawed!”
- >You wait for it to wear itself out a little before trying again.
- >Good thing you put on the gloves, because a thin dribble of feces comes from the green fluffy.
- >”Munsta come, yewwa fwuff come, huwt babehs, huwt daddehs...”
- >Yellow fluff?
- “Did it have four legs?”
- >”Hooman munsta...”
- “I'm not a monster.”
- >”Hooman haf yewwa fwuff...”
- >You certainly don't have yellow 'fluff'.
- >Should have known a foal wouldn't make any sense.
- >With a sigh, you put the foal aside, separate from the clump.
- >You spend the next few minutes sorting the foals.
- >The vast majority have failed to develop correctly.
- >Picking them up results in broken squeaks and trickles of piss.
- >A few try to say words, but they simply come out as clipped syllables like 'wu', 'mu', or 'hew'.
- >There are four normal-sounding foals in total that can probably be saved.
- >The rest will be damned to lives as stunted, undersized fluffy ponies that will suffer greatly as adults.
- >The cleanest way to deal with them is to let them starve.
- >You call the farmer back, explain the situation, then ask if he wants the foals to be removed.
- >To your surprise, he says no. He'll collect them for compost later.
- >Very well.
- >You also ask if there have been any foxes on his property, since that's the nearest to yellow animal you can think of.
- >He replies in the negative.
- >You put the four chosen foals into one cage, and put the cage in the truck cab so they can be cool.
- >The rest of the terrified foals are left behind.
- >While driving out, you get a little lost.
- >You end up driving past the farmhouse.
- >The farmer waves from the front porch.
- >Two young women are out there with him.
- >Neither waves at you.
- >One's a blonde, the other an oddball purple dye job.
- >You catch a glance of the cars in the driveway as you pull out into the road.
- >Farmer must be doing pretty well for himself.
- >He's got a black Porsche.
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