The sound of crickets chirping in the night finally gave way to a choir of birdsongs. Pawing the ground and snorting deeply, Chris looked over himself. Yet another day passed and he was still a horse. It had been a week now, a week of wandering in an uncomfortable body lost in a forest. He’d never truly given any thought as to how horses lived, or felt. To him, they were just tools, plain and simple. As he reached up to bite an apple (he’d made sure it smelled different than the one that changed him originally) he felt ashamed at the way he had to eat now. He wished now that he’d never touched the apple, and had every night prayed and hoped to wake up back in his own room, in his own human body.
So far his prayers had gone unanswered. He wandered the forest since his first entrance, steering clear of the edges near the field or farm, and had become acquainted with the surroundings, and created a makeshift home out of branches he moved with his mouth. Wandering further than he had in most days, he found an area he couldn’t account for. The new part looked out of place, for one the temperature was much greater as was the humidity. Chris noticed he smelled a great deal more in the new area, than the older one. As his hooves clopped through the foliage and the firm ground, his thoughts raced with the colors unfolding around him.
Something after letting out a low cry darted past his forelegs, causing him to rear backwards in alarm. His left hind leg splashed into a puddle, which he saw after it sprayed all his underside and legs, was an eerie light green color.

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Coming to terms with himself, Chris tries to adapt to the life of a horse, while holding out he'd be restored to normal. However this day he takes a wrong turn.
Chris is © to me.