In the Forest

Prince Perewinn shook his mane, shuddering the chill out of his bones that came when dusk fell.
He had been sleeping outside under trees for the past week because the farmer's barn where he used to spend his nights had been locked of recent. So now he was outside. A prince sleeping outside in the forest. But he supposed it wasn't all that strange, considering he was a pony.
Despite having a fur coat, mane and tail, Perewinn couldn't help but still feel cold on this damp autumn night. In the barn, he was closed-in, around other living bodies: cows, piglets, asses, goats. And there was hay on the ground for warmth and comfort.
Though he couldn't carry on a conversation with the cows or goats. He had tried that before, and was not successful. "Is that stall open?" he asked a hog once in the beginning. The spotted hog did not even blink its eyes in recognition of Perewinn's question.
Yes, cows mooed, mares neighed, sows snorted, birds chirped. Nothing more. Sometimes he wanted so badly to hear words come out of another animal's mouth, that he would imagine it happening. "Lovely day we're having," he could hear a waddling mallard say to him as he passed by a pond. And he would sometimes become so frustrated with the lack of communication that he would talk and talk and talk to a bird sitting on a branch; it was desperation in its true form. If anyone had ever overheard him as his real self trying to chat up a bird, they would have thought him off his rocker.
And the sparrow on the apple tree branch would nervously glance at him every now and then, with an embarrassed look in its eyes. "Why are you trying to converse with me?" it seemed to ask.
Perewinn walked between the trees, the sky getting darker and darker as each minute passed. What he was most afraid of were the wolves. A pack of hungry wolves could certainly overpower him. And out in the open like this there was no protection from them. He shivered just thinking about such a prospect.
But he thought his best bet for a place to rest would be a small clearing. As he trotted on the leafy forest ground, he would swing his head to the left and to the right, trying to spy something promising in the inky night.
Perewinn was about to give up this search when two things caught his attention. The first was the smell of bonfire smoke, mingling with the dewy night air. His whiskered nose twitched in response. Could it be a human? A friendly woodsman? Or a banished witch? Secondly, soon after the scent caught his attention, he saw the glimmer of a camp fire. It was small, but easily visible. As he approached it, he noticed who it was that built the fire, who was standing by it now, wearing a striped robe and blue fez.
It was a goose.

To Be Continued