HORSEY… There were forces beyond their control drawing them towards the abandoned log cabins on the south side of town…

Each night for months their dreams were filled with the scent of pine sap and dry kindling. One such night under a full moon – when the dreams had come so strong that they could taste the forests musk in their mouths and feel its wet mud between their toes – they awoke suddenly, thick with sweat and writhing naked next to each other on the bare floor of log cabin 7.

How had they got here? What time was it? These were the poorly tensed questions that ran through their minds and poured from their mouths. Then suddenly, in the corner of the room, they saw them…

A drum kit, made from wood

A wooden bass

A guitar, wood no less

And a piano. A wooden fucking piano.

Horsey was born.

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