Horse People
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They were always there, outside, milling about on the outskirts of civilization. Barely sustaining themselves on the refuse and rubbish of human kind. They watched on enviously as human society progressed over the centuries and left them behind. They endured the elements unable to clothe themselves, make tools, or harness fire. The cold, blistering winds only intensifying their bitterness. It soon became the only thing they felt, as they watched from the wilderness, lights started to shine in the towns and cities.

For the centuries to come, they moved closer to the objects of their spite. As the human population grew so did their waste, piling in great heaps. They occupied the dark corners, out of site, gorging themselves in the wee hours never enjoying a bite, always empty. At these times they would often glimpse in to the lives of their enemies through portals where the light and warmth seeped. They saw things that they could scarcely understand, but they longed for it none the less. They watched human kind frolic in the warmth and safety of their dwellings.

In these times, they grow brazen. Some allow themselves to be seen, in the inky black of the night, visages partially illuminated by the lamps of porches and on the sides of roads charging madly at human vehicles. Once in a blue moon they will attack remote homesteads and outposts, in numbers. In order to feel however fleeting the warmth and security of the indoors. The ones who gain a taste can never be satisfied, their envy turning to blinding hatred.

They do not know fear, nor pain, nor love. They have only ever known outside, and now, they demand to know inside.

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