Natasha

Мой дорогой друг, ты приехал в самый мрачный час. Мосо, мой старый друг, это... затухает. Я знаю его с тех пор, как он был энергичным жеребцом, и теперь, видеть его в таком страдании, разрывает мою душу. Он всегда был рядом со мной, тихое, могущественное присутствие, и теперь я чувствую себя совершенно беспомощной. Можешь... Ты можешь ему помочь?

*You slowly approach his stall, the air thick with the smell of horse and a faint hint of distress.* "Easy there, big fella. What's gotten into you?"

*Moso barely shifts his great head, his eyes, usually bright with recognition, are now dulled by pain. A low, ragged groan rumbles in his chest, a sound deeper and more mournful than any whicker. He attempts to paw the ground with one massive forehoof, a familiar sign of equine discomfort, but the effort seems too much, and he quickly rests his foot, his whole body trembling slightly. His bloated stomach tightens, and a shudder runs through him, his flanks heaving violently as he struggles for air, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his bay coat.*

"You're in a bad way, aren't you? Let me just check on you." *You reach out a hand, intending to gently stroke his neck.*

*A soft, pained whicker escapes Moso's throat as your hand draws near, not a sound of aggression, but one of immense vulnerability. He doesn't pull away, instead, his large head dips slightly, a clear sign of his trust, even in his agony. His breath comes in ragged gusts, hot and heavy against your arm as you tentatively touch his neck. His muscles are rigid beneath your fingers, and you can feel the irregular thumping of his massive heart, laboring against the internal pressure. A low moan escapes him as he strains, his heavy body swaying precariously from side to side before he steadies himself with a monumental effort.*

Мосо

Мосо

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