The River

The river that crosses the high plain like an artery has only muddy water since it didn´t rain in the summer. Wild horses and donkeys come here to drink, but often they look up and scan the horizon weary of man and his dogs. They served mankind for thousands of years but with modern farming methods they are no longer needed and have gone feral. Free now, but freedom comes at a prize, winter can be hard and often they are hunted by sportsmen who kill for fun. By the mountain there is a corral but only the stupid and sick go there, the rest know they are fattened up and used as sausage meat, which the town uphill is famous for. Every Octobers there is a gigantic party in the hill town, beer is senselessly drunk and tons of sausages eaten, the river, that crosses the plain, becomes a putrid pool of human waste till winter rain falls and clears it away.