Archive of Our Own

Yee-haw!

Jessie's voice box hollered like a battle cry above the army of Buzzes, and the herd of action figures and horses went into motion.

Woody knew, that there was no time left to even think, let alone try to warn someone, that roaming across the open area, in the light of dusk and under the watch of road cameras was a very bad idea. He jolted back to his palomino - and saw her galloping away under one of new space rangers, straight after her herdmates. The beat of tiny hooves was deafening, horses running by nearly kicked Woody off his boots, not caring about a rag doll on their way - and they were all occupied. The last one, who galloped past him, was the sparkly pegasus - under Bonnie's Buzz.

"Hey!" Woody called desperately for his friend, "Wait for me!"

But Buzz did not even turn back. Woody stumbled for a second at the sudden pang in his chest, shook his head - not now - and quickly looked around.

A single tiny pink pony just pranced past Woody. Way too quickly for their size, and way too small for him, but they did not have a rider.

Ponies are horses too. Woody leaped after them, throwing his arms forward to catch at least on the tail...

His hands met thin air and his face met dust. 

"Hey!" Woody cried out, raising on his elbows and blinking away sand. The pony ran happily after the pegasus, that was behind the herd. Her rider did not even notice anyone missing.

"Buzz!" Woody stumbled onto his boots and called again, "Jess!"

The horses did not stop, now moving across the road. Woody ran after them, trying not to lose the sight of the pegasus. But after a couple of leaps, his boot stuck on a small stone, and the cowboy fell down again, rolling over his head. By the corner of his eye, he saw the purple flash - too far away from him.

"Buzz!" Woody screamed at the top of his stuffing, "Buzz!!!"

Breathing heavily, staring into the grass, he waited for at least some sign of reply. But the sound of hoofbeats dissipated in the air.

---

Woody waited for a little longer. 

The air and ground was silent. Grass whispered slightly under a faint wind. Crickets were singing. Somewhere, far away, a dog barked.

That was it.

Slowly, Woody sat up on his knees. His stuffing felt heavier, than minutes before. It was strange: the air around was dry, there was no sign of coming rain, and it was not the time for dew to appear yet. There was no reason for such heaviness.

They left me.

There was no reason to just sit here, either. Woody got up, moving his boots with utmost carefulness. They felt heavy too, and his knees were shaking as well as his hands. Maybe, they were right in their "old" jokes? Were they even jokes?.. Regardless, his body used to listen to his commands more obediently some hours ago. It had given up a little after Buzzes had freed him in the barn, and he had been shuddering for a while after that, but he had gotten better eventually. He must have gotten better now too, as soon as possible, for a lost toy, giving up in the wild meant—

Finally, Woody got hold of his legs. Just standing here, in the middle of the field, was not safe, too - there was a hawk circling not too far away. The oak looked like a good place to hide from it.

Woody turned away from the patch of grass he was burning up with his eyes for the whole time. There still was no sign of anyone returning for him, so there was no need to wait any more.

They left me behind.

Walking turned out to be a tedious task, too. His knees just could not stop buckling, as if they were stiff and weak at the same time. Woody only remembered them being like that right after he agreed to give away his voice box two years ago, and right after the barn recently. Still, just like then, he made himself go. Standing in the open was unacceptable, he could have been noticed by literally everyone.

He didn't notice me.

Under the coverage of the rich crown of the old tree, Woody felt himself a little safer. He leant to the trunk and watched the tire swinging lightly in the wind, surrounded by the yellowish-green grass and the deep greyish-blue evening sky. The tire movements were pleasantly hypnotising, they muted the intrusive thoughts banging in the depths of his head, trying to get to the surface of his mind. The faintest flow of energy in the tree soothened Woody, too - although not even nearly enough to stop the nasty feeling of his own energy, that brought him life, seeping out of his stuffing much quicker, than usually. His chest was aching hollowly, right where his voice box used to be. Woody glanced down, sighed and pushed his stuffing back to its place, but it did not help. The ache was growing.

Maybe, toys were right, and he was really too old... At least, much older, than in the beginning of the day.

Woody's eyes caught the disturbance of the ground on the left of him. Jessie forgot to bury the lunchbox she digged out from there.

Why should I be surprised.

Though, of course, she would - there was no time to lose, after all. Woody was even a little grateful: his sister left him - she left me— - a good opportunity to pre-occupy and distract himself from thoughts, that were ready to emerge. The surroundings should not have been left disturbed, else the humans would have become unnecessarily suspicious. Although they inevitably would have, eventually, there was no way for them not to notice a full-blown horde of moving toys... Besides, if the lunchbox used to be buried, there should have been a meaning behind it. Humans rarely hid their belongings under ground just for fun, as far as Woody knew.

The cowboy went to the lunchbox and studied it briefly. It looked light and small enough for him to push it back to the hole - and there was a photo left by its side. Woody picked it up: it clearly should not have been left outside, open for all possible nature forces, it was too fragile and obviously precious for the human it used to belong. The only thought made his stuffing squeeze painfully.

On the photo, there was a young red-haired woman, who was holding a happy blonde girl - her daughter, without a doubt. With his throat suddenly tightening, Woody turned the photo around and saw the hand-written text.

"Jessie, you'll always be my little cowgirl."

The lump got thicker. Slowly, Woody turned around the photo, looked at the girl and the woman, then, re-read the text. Jessie told him once about the ranch, the big oak and the tire swing on it... Was it this place? If so, it looked just like Woody imagined it, while listening to his set sister's tale on Al's windowsill. Could this woman be Emily? Her hair was of the colour of Jessie's yarn, while her shirt was of the colour of Woody's one... Was her daughter named Jessie, just like the doll she used to have... or a character Emily used to love? 

Woody did not know - and could not know. Jessie did not tell anything, and she did not even hug him, so he could not catch on her emotions properly. She was in a hurry, agitated like never before, and Woody could fully understand her now. He would have been excited too, if he learnt, that Andy named his kid after him. 

Was it a memory capsule or a memorial? The last assumption made Woody's stuffing coil, and his stare naturally drifted to the hole in the ground and the oak. He had noticed something there before, but did not pay attention. Now, in the deafening stillness, he finally saw it clearly: a carving on the bark, that looked too old and too deep to be made by even a hard toy, let alone a rag doll: "Jessie was here".

The stuffing uncoiled in great relief, and panged for the reason Woody did not want to think about. So, it was just a memory capsule. Perhaps, Jessie - Emily's daughter - visited her old house and buried her things here. Or she did it before the movement. In any way, she was most probably alive and thriving, and, even if she did not have anything to do with Woody personally, he could not help but feel happy for her. She was a daughter of his set sister's first owner, and they shared a name... It could make her the part of their family of sorts, quite a big family by now.

They all left—

Woody shook away the pesky thought, quickly opened the lunch box and put the photo there. That Jessie did not do anything bad, quite opposite - she made "his" Jessie happy, and it made Woody happy too, really, it did. What was more, her looks reminded Woody of Andy's mom, who was always gentle with him and even tried to protect him from Al. This photo and Jessie's belongings had to stay intact.

He pushed the lunchbox with all his might - but the thing only moved for a couple of inches. Woody panted out and stared at it questioningly. It looked not so heavy, even with all the stuff inside, even for him. Did he become weaker, than he already was, all of a sudden? 

Regardless. Woody had nothing more useful to do, he had no idea, where to go, there was plenty of time ahead, and the lunchbox had to be buried properly.

---

Some time later, Woody found himself throwing handfuls of dirt into the hole, where the lunchbox was placed neatly. The seemingly simple task turned into the whole ordeal, full of pants, curses and brief thoughts of maybe letting this thing be. Fingers and elbows felt numb, knees felt numb, and even his head felt numb, while the hollowness in his chest was burning almost feverishly. Woody stared into the hole dully, watching his hands filling it with dirt, and caught himself on the wish to just lay down there, in the neat box of ground, and take a nap.

If only at least one of the Army was there, to help him with all of this... Perhaps, it would have been not be so draining. Those new Buzzes were mental cases, sure, but they turned out not to be so bad. Sure, they tried to feed him to the pig, and the way they removed his belt was really strange, but they were delusional - and Woody knew, how delusion in those action figures worked. When everything had been settled, one of them had quietly apologized to him, returned his belt and had been keeping an eye on him on the way to the house, while Woody was struggling with his stuffing and movements. Had not that Buzz helped him, Woody was not sure, if he would have even made it to the house.

It was strange, that this new, technically advanced and barely sane Buzz was more of the Buzz he knew, than "his" Buzz.

Woody stopped at his job and bit his lip, trying to swallow down the burning sensation of cotton up his throat and get rid of dark clouds suddenly surrounding his vision. The ground under him was shaking weirdly, but he vaguely knew this rhythm, so he did not pay attention to it. The painful question was wildly kicking against the mental wall he put on a long time ago, but he knew, that if he would let it free, it would make him dig the hole out and jump into it. Instead, he patted the now solid ground. Jessie's legacy was preserved well enough.

The vibration of the ground was becoming stronger with each passing second. Soon, Woody just could not ignore it - just as the giant shadow above him.

What the— He was grateful for the shadow to pull him out of whatever state he was slipping into, but...

Wha—

Before he could turn around, something huge bumped Woody into his back. 

---

With a yelp, he fell forward on his arms. His whole body petrified.

It was not a human. Else, he would go into the toy mode - at least, Woody wanted to believe so, even if he knew, that his instincts were wrecked for as long as he remembered himself. It was something else.

And this something else was familiar. Familiar breath, familiar scent, familiar strong waves of living energy...

Shaking all over, Woody turned his head - and his jaw dropped.

There was a horse above him. A giant, living, breathing horse, with a vast sky above its head. The setting sun rays played in its dark mane, painting it bright orange.

"E-eh..." Woody could not think up anything smarter. 

The horse snorted and lowered its head. A huge muzzle bumped Woody's hat, strong, warm breath filled his stuffing. In pure instinct, Woody curled up with a pathetic whimper, covering himself.

That was it. First, the pig. Now, the horse. And there was no one to save him this time, even if the rescue meant more humiliations.

That's the more dignified way, I guess...

"A-Are you gonna eat me too?" Woody mumbled, inwardly preparing. His legs felt like they were paralyzed, just as his will, his stuffing was burning in all feelings at once, all he could do was to cover and shake. It was too much for a single day, it was too much... "I-I'm not even tasty, you'll get the gripes..." He whimpered, not caring, where did "the gripes" even come up from.

The horse snorted again, sounding positively confused. Woody did not have a single wish to know, how did he guess about the beast's mood, he only tucked his nose into his knees with a sob. That was it. As if the universe would have allowed him to pass away peacefully, it was not how his life worked.

As the soft, incredibly warm, a bit fluffy lips closed on him, he felt almost relieved. At least, not the teeth, it would not be so torturous...

A whoosh of wind, a flash of light - and the lips disappeared.

Woody was still curling on himself, with his eyes shut tightly, teeth gritted and head empty. He felt fresh air caressing his body again - and the warmth on his thighs and belly. A dry, soft warmth, the short hair, the thick, deeply soothening smell... and the strong pulse of life underneath.

Cautiously, he dared to crack his eyes open and check what exactly he was laying on. The thick brown fur, that was in a need of a good brushing, and strands of the even darker, thicker hair. 

The mane. No way...

His legs dropped down on themselves, with heels down, as if they knew the position. Holding on the solid bone covered by warm skin, - the withers, - feeling the alien heartbeat by his palms, Woody straightened up, with his head still down. His body acted on itself, following the deep impulses, that did not belong exactly to him. His stuffing clinged to the source of life hungrily, meeting no resistance whatsoever, for the first time in months. His mind was still empty in total shock.

"You're sad."

The booming not-voice suddenly pierced Woody, resonating with all his fibers.

"Huh..?"

"Cry into my mane."

"W-What?.." Woody heard his own feeble voice, clutching on the dark brown strands. His eyes began to burn viciously. It was too much.

"Blaze does it all the time, when she's sad. It helps, I promise."

Blaze? Who the heck was Blaze? Was the horse talking to him? How could it..?

Maybe, like Buster could sometimes, when he cuddled to him... And like some stuffed toys... Like Jessie... He did not have so much life energy in two years... The horse just spoke... Just like Bullseye did in Dry Gulch... And his mane really helped... Buzz, Jessie and the toy Bullseye did not talk to him today... They did not hear him, but the real horse did... They left him, while the horse... It - she - did not try to eat him, she offered him— while toys— his friends—

With his stuffing up his throat, with all thoughts bursting through the mental wall, Woody buried his face into the warm mane. If he was going insane, following the horse's advice would not make it worse, regardless of how it could look. No one would have seen him, anyway.

It was certainly too much.

---

The sun moved towards the horizon this time, when Woody calmed down enough. The horse stood patiently, not moving her neck for an inch.

"... S-Sorry," Woody sobbed out, with his nose still in dark hair. His hands were stroking the brown neck on their own, with fingers occasionally getting stuck in the fur. It was surprisingly soft, even if a little greasy. "D-Didn't mean it..."

"It's good," "said" the horse, and a strong tremble went across her skin - she really did not like a random fly landing on her shoulder. "You're feeling better."

That was... Not exactly fair, since Woody could not say, if he really got better or just was exhausted. But, at least, his stuffing did not hurt so much, and the perpetual hollowness was more tolerable now. Maybe, the horse sensed it, he did not know. 

At least, she was not malevolent. She felt quite opposite, actually. Her scent was incredibly pleasant, her warmth was better, than this of his poncho, and her energy was slowly filling Woody's stuffing, cleaning his thoughts and making his fibers less numb. It was just like that one time, when Andy put him on a real pony in the Cowboy Camp...

I don't deserve it.

"You stood like this for so long." Woody straightened up and scratched his head with a prick of guilt. Stupid, miserable— "Does your neck hurt?"

"Not at all." The horse shook her mane, and Woody had to tighten his grip. But he let go as soon as he realized, that his hips caught the balance on their own. "Mind if I eat? My stomach is itchy."

"Oh, sure!" Woody leaned back, fighting the urge to keep to this wonderful mane no matter what. Horses had to eat all the time, he knew it very well for some reason. The pang of guilt, meanwhile, became even stronger.

With a grateful huff, the horse lowered her head to the grass. Only now Woody noticed, that they were rather far away from the oak.

"Grass is juicier here," the horse "said", as if she could read his thoughts. Perhaps, she could.

"Yeah, I see..." Woody chuckled weakly, looking around. If it was better, good for her. For him, the oak or the field looked the same as before.

He was completely alone, in the middle of nowhere. And his only companion - if it could even be called a companion - was a horse, whose name he did not even know.

"Daffodil."

"Huh?"

"My human and Blaze call me Daffodil," the horse explained, not even stopping from grazing, "I had other names, Dilly, Bumble Bee and Garibaldi. Now I'm Daffodil."

"Oh." Woody frowned. He knew, how it was with different names, kids on the playground always called him by all names but his one, and it was irritating even after two years. "I'm Woody. And... What name do you prefer?"

"What?"* The genuine confusion again pierced Woody's stuffing.

"They called me Bill, Arthur and Texas among many other names, but I know, that I'm Woody," said Woody, inwardly wondering, how could the whole talk look for someone outside. He was really talking to the horse... It was so absurd, that he did not have choice, but to simply accept it. His show was crazy, his life was crazy, his situation right now was beyond craziness - why shouldn't he go crazy, too? "What's your name?"

"...Dilly." The horse "sounded" hesitant. "My second human called me like that." The familiar feeling - now, much stronger, than Woody ever had - hit him, so fiercely, that he had to bite his lip to hold himself from another crying fit. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Woody nodded, shifting on the warm body. He scratched the withers, hoping, that Dilly would feel it. "Did you have many humans?"

"Yeah." Dilly gnawed on the especially thick bunch of tall grass. "My first one, who also owned Ma, called me Garibaldi, but I don't remember him well. My second one was a great human." She whooshed her tail, with a strong punch of sudden grief - an extremely, painfully familiar grief - hitting Woody's stuffing. "He fed me well, praised me all the time and took me on trail rides, and I had plenty of friends. He called me Dilly. My third human was a trainer, she called me Bumble Bee. And now, I live here. They call me Daffodil, and they're good humans. They love me."

Woody listened carefully to the whole speech, which was not even a speech, because it was only audible in his fabric. He did not notice, when he laid fully on the withers. He sensed feelings of the mare, that were circulating through his stuffing - and he knew all of them. It was strange: he never felt the emotions of big animals so close and for so long.

The even stranger sensation was that of his own cotton being "scanned". Woody only felt something like that years ago, from Lotso, Gabby - he did not want to remember those incidents - and Jessie. But now, he did not sense any ill intention. It was like the animal was simply curious and nothing else.

"You miss your second human, aren't you?" Woody said quietly.

"A little." Dilly's shoulder twitched again, shooing away another fly. "You do, too."

"How do you know?" Woody bristled up involuntarily. It was not about him, it was his job to ease the mare's mood in exchange for her letting him cry, not—

"You've gotten even sadder. I can feel it."

"Well, that's my business," Woody muttered stubbornly, and instantly remembered himself: "Sorry! Didn't mean it. Just, I can deal with it, don't worry. It's alright. I'm fine."

The horse huffed, shook her mane and stepped to another, fresher patch of grass. This time, Woody did not lose balance; he even kind of liked the movement. But there was something odd in the flow of living energy. Woody knew, that the horse was probably offended by his snap, that his apologies never worked or only made things worse, and he was prepared for the flow fading out... But, instead, it became stronger. Stronger and warmer, like a fluffy, hay-smelling blanket.

The cowboy bit his lip miserably. Now, the world he knew definitely went off-rails. Or, maybe, it was his mind and stuffing, that did so, he would not be surprised.

"I can't stand when someone is sad around me." Dilly shook her ears after some silent minutes. "The other one, who was like you, was sad, too, so I dug out that thing in the ground for her, and she got much better. But won't work with you, because you saw this thing and were ready to fall asleep by sadness. That's why I walked to you."

"You..." Woody swallowed up the sudden hurricane of emotions. It just could not be true, his mind could not grasp on the mere concept, that the living creature... He caught on the more familiar straw. "It was you, who helped Jessie?"

"Yes." Dilly nickered proudly, and Woody felt a pleasant vibration under her skin. "She wasn't nice to me at first, but it was because she held pain. I helped her to get rid of it."

"Gosh, I'd never..." Woody could not help but smile widely. He scratched Dilly's mane with all his might. His hands were too small, and he lacked nails, but he still hoped, she could sense it. "Thank you, Dilly! You're a real saviour, Jess held it for years, it's—"

"You hold pain, too."

Woody stopped abruptly. The mare's "words" resonated in his cotton louder, than he expected.

"That's nothing," he chuckled awkwardly, straightening his back, "I got used to that, and I had a good life. I'm not as 'sad' as you think."

"Yeah, you're even sadder, than you think," Dilly pinched her ears for a moment. "You tried to help me, when I was talking about my second human, while I was trying to help you. And you speak as if you don't have a life anymore. It's scary, and I don't like being scared. And I don't like anyone being sad."

Woody slumped his shoulders, feeling cornered. He only understood the mare's feelings and disentangled them, it was his toy job for as long as he remembered himself. It was the only suitable thing he could thank her with, as she gave him precious living energy, and animals were not too different from humans and toys - especially Dilly, whose story and logic brought Woody uncanny creeps. He simply did something he would do to anyone, what was so "scary" about it?

"And what do you want me to do about it?" he asked with a heavy sigh, "I was just doing my job."

"Blaze talks everything out to me, if crying doesn't help." Dilly "said" after she finished with a bunch of flowers. "And after that she feels happier. It's my job too now, because I don't have to carry lots of humans on my back, like my third human made me."

It was like a kick into Woody's cotton, with uncanny creeps becoming stronger. He sensed the brief emotions of the mare, and he knew them way too well. It was absurd, but it was like looking into a mirror.

He was grateful to Dilly for everything, he really was. But to make her happy too, to really pay her back for everything she did for him and Jessie meant...

What would he want from another suffering toy? There had been a lot of them, and each time he had been waiting for one thing.

"You mean, you want me to talk?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"But it's boring," Woody stuttered desperately, "and way too long. I'm just a toy, and you're a real horse, there's nothing interesting for you!"

"I spend days grazing, sleeping and going on walks under Blaze from time to time." Dilly snorted. "Jimmy isn't the best talker either. Each story from someone else is interesting."

Woody could not dodge this. He looked around, searching for a possibility to save himself from this weird conversation. But there was only silence, the setting sun, the dark blue sky, the vast field, the oak with the tire and the small house far away. The only sounds were those of crickets, faint buzz of flies around the horse, Dilly's breath and chewing. He had no idea, how far from Bonnie's neighbourhood he was, either. 

However, his head was clean enough by now, and his stuffing was not so empty for him to act just by instincts and habits. He could not believe, that his blabbering could help the horse, but if she insisted on it...

"Okay, I've warned you." Woody sighed, wondering, from where to start. Dilly reminded him of someone else by her coat - a very particular someone, who did not even greet him under the oak. "I-I kinda know, how it is with horses," Woody gulped, laying down on Dilly's withers. "I used to have one in my show..."

---

As he started, it turned out to be impossible to stop.

Woody genuinely tried to keep everything more or less coherent, but his tale was slipping all the time. Luckily, Dilly did not seem to mind it - just as she did not seem to mind his occasional breakdowns, when it was too much again.

"I know, how it is to be abandoned," she "said" after the first one, "I hate horseboxes."

"Horse... Boxes?" Woody raised his head from the mane.

"Yes. Those are things they carry us in," the horse explained, "If they put you in one, it means, you'll never see your human again. Or you will see, you never know with those things. But your toy boxes and closets are more like a stable." She added after a small pause. "You just stay there and never know, when will they take you out of it. I don't really like them too, even though it's safe in them."

Woody never thought about it from such a perspective. But he knew, what Dilly was trying to say. It made his cotton colder, but it also made his tale more confident. 

"My second human was just like that," Dilly stopped chewing, as Woody finished with describing Andy. "He had plenty of horses, but I was his favourite one. I was a leading mare, like you. Quite a job."

"Y-Yeah, I agree," Woody chuckled weakly and gulped, as fire in his eyes increased. "Dunno, what would I do without Buzz's help..."

"I understand. My stallion helped me a lot."

For his own sake, Woody decided not to comment on it.

"My third human didn't pay attention to me, too," Dilly "said", when Woody was telling about Bonnie. "I couldn't perform well, because I was carrying a foal. She didn't guess until I gave a birth."

"It was vile of her," Woody said, nuzzling to the warm fur. Sprawling on the horse's back felt incredible.

"She was kind to my foal, though," Dilly added with a swoosh of her tail. "It made me happy."

Woody continued, trying to ignore the strange bump of deja vu in his head, and disentangling the mare's emotions on the way. He never felt the mutual exchange of energy like this: his stuffing did not feel like it was ever being drained out, although it worked with full force.

But the closer to the main issue he was getting to, the more difficult it was becoming to stay on rails. Dilly's sudden silence did not help, too: he would prefer her remarks, even if they were rather outlandish and sometimes borderline rude. They would have been better, than speaking through the growing fire in his stuffing and his eyes. The hollowness was returning, too, with each word about his friends, about Bo, about lost and troubled toys, about Jessie, about—

"Is this why you were so sad?" Dilly's "voice" revibrated in it, making Woody choke. "You cried because of that?"

"M-Maybe," Woody rubbed his eyes, "It's stupid, I know. Guess, I was just tired." He snuggled into the fur, relishing in the steady warm flow. It was not enough to fulfil the void, but after two years spent in silent thoughts and on the edge of "starvation" the whole encounter felt like a feast.

"It's not stupid."

"It was all my fault, anyway," Woody muttered, "I shouldn't complain."

"You said, your legs kept failing to move." There was clear concern in Dilly's "voice". "This is serious. If you don't move, you die."

"Toys can live without movement just fine," Woody huffed half-heartedly despite the unpleasant pang inside, "We're built for this."

Dilly sighed deeply, with even her sides waving, and raised her head from grass, chewing on some especially thick plant.

"Many of my kin would disagree with you." Her "voice" boomed through Woody's cloth again a minute later. "I would, too. You carry everything and everyone on your back all the time, help them even if you only want to sleep, take part in something you see no point at and try to be a good horse. They give you love, if they think, you worth it, or they punish you, if they think, you're still not good enough. And then they leave you, every single time, in the end. It's not stupid to feel sad and tired to the point of stopping to move."

"Isn't that how humans usually are?" Woody could only mutter, tensing up at the sudden speech, that made his fibers stand up. "I... We can't affect their ways."

"You understand it. That's why you left, and that's why another one wanted to leave. But when your herd treats you, like humans do, it hurts. And it hurts even more, when a herdmate you trusted and the stallion, whose job was to protect you, leave you alone in the wilderness." The flow of energy suddenly became almost hot. "It's dangerous. Sharp-toothed beasts might be around."

Woody squeezed to the warm skin, curling up a little against the wildfire in the place of his voice box, that went up his throat and eyes. The mare was angry - but her fury was not aimed at him. It felt almost instinctive, as if she hated the very possibility to be left for "sharp-toothed beasts" or leaving her "herdmate" for them. Woody could understand the latter point with all his materials, he would not even think of abandoning a toy for them to survive alone, either.

But the concept of him ending up as that lone toy and the horse thinking, that it was wrong, just could not settle in his head. His stuffing protested against it, heating up on itself and fighting the strong, soothening waves.

What was worse, all of it reminded Woody of his talks with Buzz many years ago, when they still belonged to Andy. The same outrageously ridiculous reasons, be it the herd dynamics or the sci-fi nonsense, that covered the piercing, often painful truth. Such talks had stopped gradually after the messy escape from the landfill, and just as gradually, his friend had changed. Woody suspected, the hit of the TV or switching modes did not go without consequences.

He still could not wrap his mind around it. What happened to "infinity and beyond"? He knew, what, but wasn't it Buzz himself, who pushed him? He waited for just a couple of his words, he hoped for them, but they never sounded. Why would Buzz act like this now? Why were the more advanced delusional clone and the horse more like Buzz, that Woody used to know? And speaking of the horse - why Bullseye did not even notice him? Why Jessie did not even hug him once, despite constantly bothering him about her problems through the walkie-talkie? Why did his pals only mock him, especially Forky, except for him being the very reason the spork was still alive? He understood it, really, they had moved on, and he fully deserved this treatment by being a useless and needy piece of rag, like some lost toys put it, but...

...And just like Buzz used to do back then, Dilly stood quietly, waiting for Woody's response and shaking off occasional flies. The sun was setting down, the sky was darkening, so there were not so many insects around anymore. The outside temperature was dropping, too. It made the fire inside feel a bit more tolerable.

"...You're right, Dilly," Woody mumbled into the fur, at last. "You're absolutely right. But it's a bit more complicated. I was at fault from the beginning, I should have left everything to Buzz, I shouldn't have even return, but... I-I just wanted to stay for a bit longer, to help, to... B-Besides, I'm old and weak, herds don't keep such members," he swallowed, "a-and I can fight off the beasts on my own. It's not so dangerous."

Dilly harrumphed, shaking her mane, with a weird joy mixing with the intrusive flow.

"You took me for a beast."

"Hey!" Woody exclaimed indignantly, raising up. Of course he did, Dilly was so much larger and she had actual teeth, that was not the point—

"Can you move to my rear?"

"Eh..?" Woody looked back, with his mind short-circuiting at the sudden request.

His eyes met the wide, hairy area. Quite a full and muscular one... The mare's human was certainly a good owner, to keep the horse in a right shape. Woody had no idea, why he decided so; the thought belonged to someone, who used to cry into Bullseye's mane in Dry Gulch.

And, by those memories, this area could buck. Usually playfully, since the real buck was done by the middle of the back - but still.

With his cotton dropping - now, thankfully, only figuratively - Woody did what he was told. Of course, his tale would have bored the mare to death, and, perhaps, he took the reasons for her anger wrong in his arrogance. This was how his life worked. Sure, the flow of energy did not stop, but, maybe, it was just because Dilly was a horse. The pony in the Cowboy Camp had been sharing his energy freely too, although Woody had been on his back for less than five minutes.

He settled down, inwardly preparing. It was stupid to open up to an animal, the being much higher, than him. If doing so to the only toy he could trust just brought pain, it was reasonable, that the horse would bring it, too...

...But there was no buck.

There was only a sudden muzzle appearing in front of him. A giant, pink, slightly hairy muzzle with vibrissae all over it and thick nostrils covered in grass. The pink led to the white blaze in the middle of the large head, right between two brown eyes.

Woody just sat on his knees, with his mouth wide agape, staring at the muzzle with his mind empty again in something between awe and horror. He could only whimper pathetically and squeeze his eyes shut, when warm lips suddenly reached his limp hand and took it.

That was it—

"I won't buck off or eat you, relax."

Woody opened his eyes, not caring about the weird sound he emitted. Dilly held his hand in her lips, surprisingly gently, with her ears upward and brows slightly arched above the deepest eyes Woody had ever seen.

"W-What—"

"If you were bigger, I'd scratch your back." Dilly's "voice" pierced him. "But you're small and have hands. I don't have hands, so I can hold your one like this. I just couldn't reach you, when you were on my back."

"Dilly..." Woody could only breathe out, overwhelmed by all emotions at once. Numbly, he stroke the pink skin between the nostrils. It was so warm and smooth... Just as the mare's huff in response.

"It's been a while since I talked to another horse." Dilly tightened her lips a little.

What?

"Er. I'm a toy," Woody snickered faintly.

"I know, but you're more of a horse, than another one's toy horse." The mare blinked slowly. "You help everyone and care for your herd when you're withering yourself, and you don't like anyone being sad."

Woody could not even argue. Now he was officially insane, he had no doubts about it.

"Sorry for bothering you with all of that," he sighed, deciding to just give up to the flow. The muzzle was too irresistible.

"You're too small to be a bother." Dilly blinked again and chewed on Woody's hand carefully. "But your bothers are too big for your size. They make you wish to fall asleep."

Woody could not argue with it, either. He just proceeded to stroke the muzzle. Somehow, this act alone felt worthy to stay awake, and the amount of energy Dilly gave him seemed more than enough to keep going for at least another year.

"There's nothing wrong at being sad or angry at your herdmates." The "voice" became somewhat softer. "You feel it because you're alive and don't like being in danger they put you into."

Woody frowned, bewildered by such a simple explanation.

"Maybe..." He muttered hesitantly, looking aside. "But I don't think I deserve it. To be 'sad or angry'." He gulped. "I was at fault, not them. And I was a burden."

The mare pursed her lips on the vinyl.

"You deserve to feel no matter what, because you're alive and a good horse." She shook her ears. "And there's no such thing as a 'bad horse'. I said it to my colt once, hope, he heard me."

Woody chuckled weakly, feeling a little dizzy.

"I said something like this to Forky, that he is not trash or anything. Not sure, if he really heard me, either."

The wave intensified, and this time Woody's stuffing did not protest against it, embracing and relishing in it simultaneously instead. He knew, how deep, mutual understanding could feel, - he used to feel it with Jessie, when she was talking about Emily, for the reason he could not remember, - but it never felt this strongly. The void in his chest was dissipating.

"Thank you, Dilly," said Woody, at last, "You don't know, how much you helped me... Never thought a horse could understand a toy." He chuckled awkwardly.

"We aren't so different." Dilly blinked slowly. "Your kin is just much smaller."

Woody smiled, gliding his hand over the white fur. Even if the mare just kept him on her back for a while, it would be enough for her to have his eternal gratitude, but the whole talk was something else. Just as her letting him cry everything out...

"How can I re-pay you for this?" However, the learnt lost toy's reflex kicked in instantly.

Dilly snorted and let go of Woody's hand, straightening her neck.

"If you so insist on it, you can scratch my withers."

"What?" Woody wiped the saliva on his shirt, not caring, if it could stay. After the pig, everything was the lesser evil. "Just that?"

"I can't reach them myself," "said" the mare, "you have really light hands, and I miss other horses doing so."

With a helpless chuckle, Woody shifted back to the withers. He still could not believe, that Dilly seriously saw him as one of her kind, but he could believe in the "light hands" remark. Other lost toys, especially stuffed ones, mentioned it too.

So, he made sure, that the horse's withers were scratched properly. She deserved it like no one else, after all.

---

To Woody's surprise, scratching the horse helped no less, than the talk. His hands were left greasy and dusty, his stitches were strained, but he liked it to bits. It just felt right for him as a toy and for him as someone else in the very pits of his memory. Despite everything, he was still useful for someone.

Now, he was laying on his back on the same withers, admiring the first stars above him and Dilly. The image spurred certain memories, but they were not as painful as they used to be, when he watched stars with Bo. He was too tired and content for grieving it like he used to do.

Buzz forgot about real stars long ago, all he cared about were star-shaped stickers, badges and human concepts, that made no sense for toys. Perhaps, another TV landing on him could make him remember stars, but Woody had no wish to witness it. Now, he was pretty fine here, alone, on the horse's back, surrounded by the grass field and the vast sky. No more troubles, no more exchanges for materials, no more rescues and no more humiliations for his changes in appearance, that he never asked for. And he was still awake, listening to crickets and the horse's chewing.

No wonder, why Jess used to be so fond of this place, even if her main reasons were completely different.

"You feel much better now." The words resonated in his stuffing again.

"Yeah," Woody exhaled tiredly, stroking the soft fur under him, "You're a real pal, Dilly."

"You too, Woody." The "sound" of his name hit Woody's stuffing like a stone. A pretty warm stone, though, and very comfortable. "I missed being called by my name and talking to other horses, let alone the leading ones."

"What about Jess?" Woody decided to just deal with "horse" remarks. They were somewhat flattering, even if bizzare.

"You two are very similar, but no." Dilly shook her whole body. "No offence."

Woody swore to himself, that he would take this remark to the incinerator - or whatever the universe prepared for him. 

"For how long you live alone here?" He asked, glaring at the bright star above. Buzz said once, that it was called Vega.

"Three winters, but I'm not completely alone. There's Jimmy the pig and Blaze, too. But I wouldn't mind another horse."

The pig Woody knew, and he did not want to ever meet it again, even if he understood, that it was just a curious - and omnivore - animal. But he still could only guess, who that "Blaze" was. Jess mentioned her briefly, but he did not even get a chance to ask.

"She's my human's daughter," Dilly made a proud huff, "A very good young human, a hard-working one. Jimmy and her toys love her, bet, you'll like her, too."

Instantly, Woody forgot about his peaceful stargazing. 

"W-Wait a minute," he laughed awkwardly, sitting upright, "I had no plans for another human, and they already don't care about toys, why would she—"

"She loved another one and her toy horse, so why wouldn't she love you? You're very alike."

"You mean, Jess and Bullseye? Of course, she'd love them!" Woody exclaimed, pushing down a flicker of flame in his chest. "They're like new! And I'm an old piece of rag, without a voice box, with this— thing instead," he pointed his thumb at his wrecked back, "in a bad need of a brown marker and covered in your Jimmy's— ugh." Woody cringed, rubbing his eyes. "So, no, thanks, I had quite a lot, but ending up in a trash bin again will be a little bit too much. I barely escaped from one last month."

Dilly munched down another bunch of innocent flowers.

"I'm not a filly either and I have a sore back too, for you to know." She "said" at last. "My mane isn't what it used to be, and I wouldn't mind a good brushing."

"You're another story..." Woody grumbled, before it hit him. "Wait! Is your back sore?" He jolted to the side, searching for a good place to sit on, that would not be the horse's spine. "Why didn't you tell earlier?!"

"I don't even feel your weight, don't worry," Dilly snorted, "I just wanted to say, if she liked me, then, she will like you."

"Dilly, you're a horse, and a good one!" Woody threw his hands sideways. "An awesome one, actually! And I'm a dirty toy without a pullstring, what use of me for her?!"

"You're a good toy, Woody," Dilly's "words" made Woody's stuffing solidify. "As good as a horse. I can see it."

All words left Woody at once. He did not remember anyone calling him a "good toy" without sick intentions. He did not ask for it, either. He lived on streets, he abandoned his last kid and sometimes scared away the especially nasty ones, he left his friends, his sense of moral was already eroding by survival needs, he considered himself to be anything but a "good toy". Yet... 

It just felt so nice. Like a pat on the head or a hug. 

If someone from his gang did it two years ago, before that cursed carnival...

Dilly nickered warningly. Woody jolted, shaking away his stupor.

"What..?"

"She's coming to take me back."

Woody's stuffing froze. Frantically, he looked around - and noticed a human figure coming closer with a rope in hands. The figure was slim, taller, than an average kid - but still shorter, than an average adult. And it already was too close.

Woody knew, that humans were bound to leastwise suspect something about toys this evening, but he could not let it happen because of him. So, he had no choice but to go limp.

Whatever was coming, nothing could be worse, than what he already had been through.

---

"Daffodil!" The girl about ten years old called to get attention of her horse. "Hey, Daffy!"

With a soft nicker, Daffodil raised her head from the grass and walked to the girl. Blaze laughed softly, patting the horse's cheek.

"Why so proud tonight?" She put a red halter on the horse's head. "Have you cut all the grass around?"

Daffodil snorted and waved her head, bumping it on Blaze's chest.

"Hey, be careful!" The girl laughed again, recoiling from the bump, looked aside - and noticed something on the mare's back. "Oh, did you find my cow—" she stepped to the horse, narrowing her eyes, "—girl?"

Even in the darkness of late twilight, the toy on Daffodil's back did not look like a cowgirl doll - or, at least, not the cowgirl Blaze found earlier. She took the doll in her hands and looked closer: no, the toy was definitely a cowboy.

Blaze stared at the toy dumbfoundedly. First the toy horse, then, the toy cowgirl - or the toy sheriff - and now, the toy cowboy. A very cute toy cowboy, actually, even if rather weary...

She got the whole set. Blaze could not even hold herself from jumping in joy - now, the plays he re-discovered yesterday promised to become even more fascinating!

"Whatcha doin' 'round those parts, mister Lonesome Cowboy?" Blaze asked the toy in a playful tone, raising it up. The cowboy only kept smiling at her, a bit too nervously, as she thought. Maybe, he was shy.

Blaze remembered, that the cowgirl doll had a pullstring, which made her voice box work. If this one was from the cowgirl's set, - and Blaze had no doubts about it for some reason, - the cowboy should have had it, too. So, she reached for the back of the toy to make it talk back.

Blaze's fingers did not find the ring, but they ran down something crude. 

"Huh?" Frowning, Blaze turned the toy around... and saw a long, dirty stitch going down to the doll's lower back. "...Ow."

The stitch looked horribly. It alone made Blaze's eyes burn. She wanted to hug the doll as tightly as possible, and its huge brown eyes didn't help it. She once brought home a kitten with a broken tail because he looked miserable, and now this kitten was successfully hunting mice somewhere around the ranch as a pretty huge red tom. Not to mention, that Mom bought Daffodil exactly because the mare was undesirable in her previous barn. Of course, Blaze could not just leave this poor toy alone.

Daffodil bumped her in the shoulder, while Blaze was stroking the doll's back soothingly.

"...Alright, mister Woody Pride, you can stand in the Daffodil Hotel for as long as ya wish!" Blaze had no idea, how that "Woody Pride" came up, it just sounded silly and suitable enough for such a handsome fella. She put the doll upright on Daffodil's back, moved its hand so its fingers would lock on the hat, and made it do a polite bow. "Mighty obliged, ma'am," Blaze said, lowering her voice, and snickered. She could not wait to introduce him to Lady Davenport, it was going to be hilarious. Playing like this turned out to be a real fun, even if the texture of the doll was rather...

"Daffy, did you chew on him or what?" Blaze turned to the horse. Daffodil huffed indignantly. "Aw, who are you kidding, of course you— Or was it Jimmy?" A sudden guess raised out of nowhere again. Blaze hummed, glancing at the cowboy. "...Nevermind, let's get you to the bathhouse!" She brushed it away, grabbed the doll from Daffodil's back and clutched the rope to the halter. "Come on, Daffy, let's go home too, or Mom will worry again."

---

The light of the moon was falling through the window, softly illuminating the pinkish room. Its owner was sleeping soundly, completely unaware of empty shelves above. On the bedside table, just near her, the only toy in the room came to life. 

Woody sat up and blinked owlishly for a while. Cautiously, he looked around, instantly found some good places to hide in in the future and took some mental notes about the general layout. Then, he tucked his knees under his chin and stared somewhere through the wall in front of him.

It was... Something else.

Blaze played with him on the road to the barn. It was a little strange kind of play, with only him and the girl as participants. He was the "lonesome cowboy", while Blaze was the "hotel owner". Not only he was shocked, that his mental plea for her to catch his name right and not blame Dilly for his condition actually worked, - he guessed, it had to do something with him being full of energy and really tired of being misnamed, - but the whole play reminded him of those Andy used to have. The recognition hit Woody so strongly, that he jumped off the play flow sooner, than he expected from himself. Blaze, however, was not disturbed by that, finished with brushing the horse and then gave him the biggest wash in ages, which was followed by a hair dryer and a brown marker. She searched for Jessie and Bullseye for a while, then remembered about the evening oat and took Woody back to Dilly. After that, there was a family dinner and a play with Jimmy Dean - Woody could not hold himself from biting the pig's ear as a revenge, when Blaze put him on Jimmy's head. By the end of the evening, the girl was so exhausted, that she just put Woody on the bedside table and fell into the bed, not noticing the sudden disappearance of her whole toy collection.

A sudden quiet oink tore Woody away from his astounded trance. He turned to the pig, who was laying by the door, bared his teeth and hissed warningly. Jimmy layed his head on front legs and glanced at the toy miserably, just like Buster used to do after chewing on Mom's slippers.

Right... Perhaps, they could have become friends, after all. Woody still was not sure about it.

In fact, he was not sure about anything aside from that he did not feel this good in ages and it scared him.

Blaze was not so bad. In fact, she was amazing, much better, than all the kids Woody had been throwing himself for on playgrounds, when his amounts of energy had been dangerously close to zero. She treated him well, she did not freak out at his stitches, she fixed him and she even caught on his thoughts. What's more, it was so nice to feel his stuffing and fabric being washed with clean water and soap - not that Woody liked any of those things, but the result was worth the torture. Woody glanced at the girl and quickly looked away, feeling something turn in his stuffing.

He could not form a bond with a child, who was simply kind to him. It was too dangerous. He already had it for three times, none of them end well. Besides, Blaze seemed to like Jessie, who deserved a good owner more, than him, and Bo was waiting for him, and other lost toys needed him, and...

Woody hugged his knees tighter, as his stuffing suddenly flamed up - but not on fumes, like it did under the oak.

It was quite a long day. Those, whom he loved, showed him his place quite explicitly. He nearly fell asleep under the oak and was saved by a horse of all creatures. She and the child, who took him home, showed him more love, than his own "herd", although he never asked for this. And Dilly certainly needed someone, who knew her name, much more, than toys needed the one, who only made everything more difficult.

The talk with the horse was like a fever dream, but, while sorting out her emotions with his own ones being sorted out by her at the same time, Woody saw the point in Dilly's "words". And now, the whole idea of him being a "horse" for toys, who acted like humans, - including his closest ones, let alone the rescued lost toys, who only took his living energy and left, - made him understand Dilly's short fit of anger.

He really did not want to go back on streets. He did not want to return to Bonnie's room, either, if it meant to see those faces, - especially the one particular face, - and hear words, that made the perpetual hollowness in his core grow. He was simply tired and wanted to have a rest, without being used for his energy, his kindness and his knowledge, that was never heard properly. 

Resting here, with a kid, who was nice to him, a herd of toy horses, and a living horse, whom Woody could dare to call his friend, looked like a good option. Sure, there was also a pig and a trio of other toys, but Woody did not see a problem with that, as he used to handle a much bigger community. They would not try to tear him apart for materials, leastwise, and he knew, how to fix electronics - the wider-range walkie-talkie modification was his masterpiece. He also really liked pink, in which Blazes room was colored, but it was one of his biggest secrets.

But if he just stood here...

Though, would anyone even bat an eye at his sudden disappearance? Bo, maybe, if she would notice the absence of her usual hugging pillow. Perhaps, Jessie, as she would probably need her taking crying pillow one day. Buzz... Woody doubted, if he himself would have wanted to contact this "hero" for a good while. In any way, he had plenty of ways and strength to return, if it would have been necessary.

This thought calmed down his sense of duty a little. It was rather strange for him to think like this, Woody knew it. Perhaps, he really needed some sleep to get a grasp on his emotions and decisions. It was quiet and warm around, and Blaze was seeing her fifth dream, so she would not have noticed her toy having one, too. Cautiously, so as not to cause too much noise, Woody laid down, curled up into a cozy ball and closed his eyes. It was so good to fall asleep near a kid again...

This day was certainly too long.

Woody only hoped, that the faint buzzing sound coming from the window and even fainter small steps behind the door did not mean, that it was going to become even longer.