You’re the smarty friend of your herd. Your herd is only two, you, a unicorn, and Bluey, a pegasus. Well, kind of two. Perhaps it would be better to say two halves. One body. Though you’re the smarty, you’re also the end that poops.
Bluey’s first words were “Wuv daddeh!”
Your first words were “Wan’ BLURRRRGGGGGH die.”
Your second words were “wife nu pretty”.
Hooman munstas have no desire to actually kill you. The abusers end up scaring Bluey so bad he makes sorry poopies. They watch and figure that your existence alone is crueler than anything they could ever do to you. The ones who typically take care of and love fluffies can’t bring themselves to kill a healthy fluffy. You are, technically healthy. Bluey’s thriving, and thus you are too. But they can’t bear to see your misery, so they don’t take you in either, so you became a feral herd – the two of you. Luckily, Bluey’s happy to let you be the smarty. He doesn’t seem to realize that all of your smarty ideas involve attempting suicide. Continue reading