Your miniscule height remains unchanged. At this scale you no longer need worry about getting detected by birds or beasts, but what sort of life could you hope to lead? The farm is a vast field of towering blades of grass, and at your current scale your only way of seeing beyond the grass is to happen upon a bent blade and climb your way to its highest point. You find yourself reduced to the life of a nomadic insect.
At your tiny scale you simply cannot find any tools to aid you. A small twig could have served as a makeshift spear at your previous height, but that option goes out of the window when even sticks are the size of trees, and when none of them have a diameter that is smaller than your waistline. The human body is ill-adapted for survival at this scale, to say the least. You are left to scavenge for yourself, eating the leftovers of bug carcasses other insects were too disinterested in scavenging.
Your first attempt at collecting water proved disastrous.
Fleeing from the hoofbeats an oblivious giant Rapidash, you found yourself wandering within eyesight of a literal mountain of horse dung. You remained caught up in the terrifying sight for several minutes, humbled by the thought that something so base and gross could make you seem insignificant in comparison. But as you fled for it, you happened upon a vast puddle of water. With the turd's choking, agonizing scent overwhelming the air around you, you were unable to realize that the pool of water was in fact a pool of piss. Unable to realize, that is, until your second gulp of it.
You vomited hard that night, losing much of the calories you built up over the day from scavenging bug corpses, and learned the hard way to only accept the morning dew and the rain.
Once, you found yourself close to the barn. You felt hopeful that you would be able to garner the attention of a human. But the presence of multiple canine pokemon reminded you of just how fruitless your attempts at human contact would be. You've seen animals go after laser pointers with great enthusiasm before. You would be a short-lived plaything in comparison.
Eventually, you find a bottle cap far from the farm and settle beneath it. In the shade of the cap you finally get a chance to rest. But with that rest comes a chance to reflect and a lessening of adrenaline. You begin to feel the itch of your sun-burned back and the wince inducing pain of the myriad little cuts and bruises you accrued. You are underrested, and yet your fear denies you easy sleep. Abdominal pains can be felt within you, and the ever-present scent of distant shit-mountains, something that had become so routine to you that you forgot its existence, enters your conscious thoughts for the first time in a while.
The bottle cap is eventually stolen from you by a farmboy who doesn't even notice your presence. Deprived of your primary form of shelter, you instead head towards a nearby patch of taller than usual grass and hide in its shade
======
After who knows how many days living in this unwalled grassy prison, you are stirred by the sounds of approaching hoofbeats once more. In your half asleep but panicked state, you cannot tell which way they're coming from, but you can tell for sure that they are headed your way. You struggle to your feet and begin to make your way through the underbrush, only to realize that you lack any visual on the approaching colossus, nor do you have any shelter to run to. No one spot is any safer than the others, here.
Perhaps if you had dug into the dirt and made a cave for yourself, you might not have to worry about the ensuing trampling. Then again, your tiny fingernails aren't exactly suited to burrowing into the dirt, and you'd have needed multiple escape routes should your cave wind up buried beneath a horse turd. Regardless, it's too late to consider a construction project.
The hoofbeats intensify, something all too familiar from your last direct encounter with the Mudsdale. Realizing your best bet for survival is getting a visual on the giant, you scurry through the patch of tall grass in an attempt to find a bent blade, or perhaps a weed with cellulose crisp or squishy enough to allow you to climb it. By now the hoofbeats are near deafening, and the noise is only intensifying. Your increasingly desperate search proves fruitless. The intensifying vibrations rise to the level of being physically painful, and they render you unable to continue your search. You collapse onto your knees, dazed and shaken
Once more, when the intensity of the noises reach their apex, an eerie calm where only the ringing in your own ears can be heard follows. And then you hear the sounds of crunching reverberating not too far off from where you stand. You remain in place for a moment, testing the waters to see if any more hoofbeats will follow...and then you once more resume your search for higher ground. Eventually, you spot a bent blade of grass, and approach it with reckless abandon. As you near the grassblade, you find yourself at the base of an orangeish reddish tower. Pressing your hand against it, you find that its texture feels not too different from that of damp soil.
You advance up the blade of grass . The search is over. You have the high ground. At last you get high enough to get a solid glimpse at your surroundings. Turning your head rightward, you see the colossal head of the Mudsdale posed over the tall grass patch you once called home, his teeth reaping spires of grass out of the earth and bringing them into his maw's damp embrace. Looking upwards and around, you realize that you appear to be located right beside his front left hoof, next to the muddy bootlike armor that comprises a Mudsdale's lower leg, a revelation that does not particularly surprise you.
You watch in silent awe , fear, and relief as the Mudsdale devours the grass, moving his head to the side once he's exhausted a swath of it. That adjustment of his head is no afterthought to you, however, for soon after he does so, he shifts his hoof backwards with a THWAM, the grass suddenly springing back now that the pressure on it has been relieved. But one blade remains bent, and so you scurry back towards it and climb up again, once more getting a glimpse of your surroundings.
The Mudsdale's maw , now agape, is waiting. It lurches forward and seizes a nearby cluster of grass, one mere inches away from you, and with an efficient crunch liberates them from the soil. You let out a little scream as you tumble off of the bent grass blade and land on another one just beneath it. Getting onto your back, you look up to see the Mudsdale munching on the grass, its maw no doubt crammed full. One of its eyes turns its attention down towards you, but rather than attacking you or reacting in humanitarian shock, the creature simply looks on with indifference, responding only with the vaguest acknowledgments of your existence. It is as if he spotted a hole punched into the grass by an unseen insect and merely took a fleeting interest in it.
The Mudsdale looses a loud and nauseating snort as he gulps down the cluster of grass. And then he opens his maw wide once more and tilts his head leftward, simply continuing his feeding uninterrupted. His gaping maw approaches you, its interior waiting for you. A tongue far bigger than the bottlecap you took shelter under and enormous teeth powerful enough to crunch it into a dented and twisted saliva soaked thing head straight for you. The horse pokemon's teeth might not be sharp, but they are just as deadly as a carnivore's fangs to one as tiny as you. Perhaps moreso, in fact
All grows dark as the Mudsdale's maw falls around you, and his teeth quickly crunch with brutal efficiency around not you, but the base of the 'high ground' on which you stand. THe blade of grass is broken in two, and you are swept into its maw along with it as if you were a mere salad garnish. And, frankly, as a little bit of protein in a far larger mass of plants, that is about what you are. Realizing that you are likely not the intended meal you make a desperate attempt to hop off of the grass and land at the front of the horse's mouth, but that is blocked by the sudden descent of its teeth. The Mudsdale lifts his head up and proceeds to gradually chew the grass into mulch, your body getting chaotically swept this way and that in the process.
Despite being caught in a tempest of chomping teeth and continuously assailed by the Mudsdale's squishy, damp, and almost vulgar feeling tongue, your body is kept completely intact. Rather than being chewed up yourself, you are merely along for the ride as the grass is broken down more and more. Eventually you find yourself completely engulfed in the dampened grass, the horse's vile saliva being more a concern than any actual contact with its tongue or teeth.
Your cries, muffled by the swirling cocoon of grass around you, echo impotently through the Mudsdale's maw, drowned by its snorts, and you are soon pulled into the abyss that is its belly.
You should count yourself very lucky that it was not a Tauros or a Miltank that devoured you. Mudsdales only have one stomach. It isn't long before its digestive processes get to work on you. The prolific amount of grass the creature consumed provides you with ample cover, but that cover is fleeting. Every surface on which you cling eventually dwindles away among the acid, and soon so to do you. You spend your last moments struggling to postpone your death as the horse clops his way across the field. Human voices can be heard from time to time, but at your scale, and from your position within the horse's belly, they sound alien and inscrutable.
Eventually your body passes out of the enormous horse donut you thought you would never pass through, and you plop down to the ground below, your skeleton surprisingly intact, but unnoticeably small amid the mountain of shit that is your final resting place.
YOU DIED
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