Stratus trotted through the sunny meadow. A dark cloth was tied on its forehead. A bright cloth wrapped its tail. A tiny pink horn tip peeked out. It trotted faster. Nobody could notice, right?
Stratus ducked behind a tall oak tree. The tail cloth slipped — a shimmer of rainbow colors flashed through the grass. It pulled the cloth down quickly and huffed. The meadow felt too open, too bright.
Stratus tried to play tag with the other horses. Every time it ran or spun, the cloths fluttered and rainbow hair escaped. It tripped over its own tail — the rainbow strands bounced in the air. The other horses stopped and stared.
A summer rainstorm rolled in. The wind tore the cloths right off Stratus — the horn gleamed silver and the rainbow tail streamed out like a flag. Stratus froze, ears flat, waiting.
But the other horses didn't run. One by one, they shook their manes — glowing horns and rainbow tails appeared too. Stratus blinked.
Stratus lifted its head and trotted in a wide circle. Its horn caught the sun and the rainbow tail streamed behind it. The herd galloped together in a swirling rainbow of color.
Hooves drummed the wet meadow like a happy rhythm. Stratus laughed, a bright sound that rose up with the rainbow clouds.
That afternoon, the meadow looked different. Everything sparkled. Stratus trotted through it all, head high, rainbow tail streaming behind like a banner.
Stratus found a quiet spot under the old oak tree. It untied the dark cloth and let the bright one fall away. No more hiding.
The other horses came to visit. They nudged Stratus gently with their noses. One whispered, You were right to be yourself.
That evening, the herd rested together in the meadow. Stratus lay down with the rainbow tail curled neatly beside it and the silver horn catching the last light of the setting sun.
Stratus dreamed of rainbow storms and galloping free. The meadow sparkled in the starlight, and somewhere in the distance, a silver horn gleamed.