[Ok, so here is my Story Contest Entry(the tabs didn't show up, so I used this <---> to show a tab):]
<---> Listening to the wild, expressive stories from the other Samanayrs and Sharians, and watching the attentive young foals hanging off every word brought back memories of Pulse’s childhood. Some were nice, fond memories, the kind you want to keep and look back on, but some were the kind you’d rather forget. Pulse of the Mechanical Heart was reminiscing on his past when the current story ended and a young filly jumped up excitedly, “Myr. Pulse?” she asked and her hoof twitched as if she wanted to reach out and touch him, “will you please tell us the stoyry of youyr beautiful wings?”
<---> That snapped him out of his daydreaming. “Payrdon me?” he said softly to the curious filly.
<---> “Umm,” she uttered, a little embarrassed at her previous excitement. “Will you tell us how you got youyr wings?”
<---> “Ah, I guess I was going to have to tell this stoyry eventually,” he replied. “It all stayrted a long time ago...”
<---> His mother had never been the healthiest mare, but the song’s stallion loved her fiercely and did everything he could to make her happy. Due to complications in birth, his mother had grown ill and died shortly after his birth. His father was devastated and spent many months in solitude leaving the other mares to care for his lands and song. The mare who raised Pulse had never had a foal of her own and showered him with love and care causing the other foals to regard him jealously when their own mothers punished them for misbehaviour. Soon enough, Pulse was a year old and was ready to receive his name at his coming of age ceremony along with the rest of the song’s foals. The mare who had taken charge of the song approached the cave where their stallion had chosen to isolate himself. “You must come and attend the coming of age ceyremony to name youyr son,” she called out. “You have been in solitude long enough, youyr song needs you.”
<---> All she heard was a quiet shuffling. “Oh come on!” she exclaimed, charging into the cave. “You know how important this is to them.”
<---> The stallion just grumbled back and turned over. “Don’t you yremembeyr youyr own naming ceyremony? How much it meant to you?” she questioned nudging him in the back.
<---> He was quiet for a moment before he turned over to stare at the mare, “I guess you’yre yright, nothing I can do will byring heyr back.”
<---> “We all miss heyr,” the mare said, nuzzling his neck, “and we’ve missed you too.”
<---> The two walked back to the hot spring in silence comforting each other. When they arrived, the foals were all lined up waiting for the naming to begin. The stallion gasped as he saw his son. With Pulse’s yearling shed, he now resembled his mother almost perfectly. A tear slid down his face as he remembered his beloved mare.
<---> The naming ceremony had begun. As the other two fillies stepped towards their mothers, they received their names and the stallion stepped towards them presenting them with a woven circlet of leaves and dried berries. At last it was Pulse’s turn. His surrogate mother stood proudly by and gave him a nod of encouragement. Pulse whickered nervously and then stepped up to the father he had barely seen. As the stallion gazed at the ghost of his favourite mare, his heart beat mechanically, like the tick of a clock, and he managed to choke out, “Fyrom now on, you shall be known as Pulse of the Mechanical Heayrt foyr you yremind me styrongly of youyr motheyr and cause my heayrt to slow in pain.”
<---> He handed the final circlet to his son and then disappeared off into the forest. That was the day Pulse set out to explore the world. He said goodbye to his foster mom and set off north. He had heard stories of dragon-like creatures called Sharians and hoped to meet some.
<---> As he explored an old-growth forest with trees as wide as the hot spring his birth song had called home, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. It was now dark and getting a little hard to see. He pulled his wings in around him for comfort and hurried on down the path. The rustling continued as if the rustler was following him. Suddenly a soft crack came from the bushes in front and startled, Pulse spread his wings and prepared to leap into flight. At that exact moment, an enormous Oquiesa leapt from the bush and latched on to his left wing, while a smaller one jumped out on to his back.
<---> There was a small shriek of fear from one of the mares in the audience, and Pulse had to pause in his story telling as all the heads turned to her. “It’s ok, we’re safe here” he called out reassuringly.
<---> A certain stallion who had been admiring her all night ran off to get her a drink of water and then cuddled up against her for comfort. With that all sorted out, Pulse continued his story...
<---> He shrieked out in pain as the Oquiesa bit into him and he tried to pull his wing out of its grasp. He kicked and scratched and bit but the Oquiesas were too fast, the large one never releasing its hold on his wing. In a last ditch attempt to escape, he gathered all his energy into his legs and leapt, ripping his one wing out of the Oquiesa’s mouth. He flew through the air, weakly beating his injured wing hoping he would be able to reach the lowest branch in the nearest tree. Time slowed as the branch came closer and closer, when all of a sudden another Oquiesa leapt out of the shadows, crushing his good wing into his side and forcing the air out of his lungs. When he reached the ground in a heap, he had no fight left in him; his father couldn’t bear to look at him and he had killed his own mother. At least death would relieve him of all his burdens. He closed his eyes and waited, but he wasn’t expecting a sharp whistling sound. Pulse lay there waiting, and waiting, the time seemed to last forever, until finally he felt something. Soft hands were gently lifting him up and he was being carried. A sudden jolt jarred his broken wings and a he felt a flash of pain before the world went dark.
<---> When Pulse regained consciousness, he was swimming in a soft bed of pillows and blankets with a tinkling music playing softly in the background. He slowly opened his eyes and then instantly closed them as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He heard a pair of voices arguing softly in a language he didn’t understand. As he tried his eyes again, he was able to take in a little more of the room. He was in a big room with large windows and enormous curtains blowing softly in the breeze. He tried lifting his head to better see his surroundings, but another wave of dizziness forced his head back down. His motion caught the attention of his rescuers, a pair of brightly coloured Sharians draped with shiny gems. One of the Sharians, the one with a large blue sapphire clasped to her forehead in a bright golden circlet, came up to Pulse and waved a scaly hand over his face while humming softly. Instantly the dizziness vanished and Pulse sunk back into unconsciousness.
<---> The next time he awoke, the Sharian was above him looking down at him, the sapphire sparkling in the light. “How do you feel?” She said to Pulse, “I am a Sharian mage, my mate and I found you in our forest. We called off the Oquiesas and brought you here for healing.”
<---> Pulse stretched out his wings, or thought he did, then said, “Well, my wings feel a lot betteyr.”
<---> When the Sharian mage grimaced at his words, he looked over at what would have been his wings, but were now only stumps in their place. His jaw dropped open and he groaned, “no, my wings, but I felt them, no, no, they can’t be gone, NO, this can’t be happening.”
<---> He felt a restraining hand on his chest as he began to struggle, “little one, little one, CALM DOWN,” The mage commanded, a strange vibration in her voice, “there are options, the rest of your body is fine, we repaired your broken ribs and the rest of your injuries, you are FINE. If you so choose, we can even replace your wings.”
<---> Pulse stopped struggling and closed his eyes, it was all so overwhelming. “You can yreplace my wings?” he said softly, “it’s possible?”
<---> “Yes, we have the technology and the magic; many of your kind have already undergone the process and are living happily. There is no pain, but it may take many months to regain full use.”
<---> “You can build me new wings?” Pulse whispered, still not quite believing what had just been said.
<---> At that moment, the other Sharian walked into the room, “I’ve brought the tools you requested,” he said in a musical voice, “have you talked to him yet?”
<---> The mage nodded and replied to Pulse, “just say the word and we can start the process. You can begin your recovery tomorrow morning, otherwise, you’re good to go and can leave right now should you be so inclined.”
<---> Pulse lay in silence for a few moments debating with himself. “Ok,” he said, “but can you make them so that they will attyract attention away fyrom me?”
<---> “Sure,” the mage said, surprised, “but may I ask why? Most others have only wanted function.”
<---> “My fatheyr,” Pulse said, catching a sob in his throat, “he couldn’t beayr to look at me foyr I yreminded him of my motheyr who died duyring my biyrth.”
<---> “Oh little one,” the Sharian mage exclaimed, “you poor soul.”
<---> The next morning, Pulse turned his head to look at his new wings, they were beautiful. The metal had been colour matched to his coppery fur and moulded to look like feathers, and there were gorgeous rubies delicately set into the feather pieces. Carefully Pulse rose from the bed and tried stretching his new wings. There was a soft whirring sound but nothing happened. “I said there would be a recovery period,” the mage said as she entered the room, “you have to concentrate. Soon enough it will feel as natural as it once did, you just need practice.”
<---> “And that is the end of my stoyry,” Pulse said to his riveted audience, “I pyracticed using my wings eveyry day and when I had fully healed, I went out to seayrch foyr my fatheyr. I yretuyrned to my biyrth hot spyring to find it abandoned. I have been seayrching foyr him eveyr since.”
<---> With that, Pulse stepped back from the fire, his eyes glistening as if they were about to tear up, lay down, and waited for the next story to begin.
