Dreaming Old Dreams
I probably have no business writing this but...ah well. (FYI, this isn't for me. Now that I think of it, I know of at least three people that need this, though I only meant it for.... *is enigmatic*)
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It was a grey and empty place, marked only by the signs of death: sketetal trees, carrion crows, the sickening squlech of mud tugging at your foot. Depressing. This was the Swamps of Sadness. The stories said that anyone who let the sadness of the swamp overtake them would sink into the depths, never to return. Atreyu was not scared; the entire world was in danger of being lost. What, then, was a little sadness?

Atreyu pulled his horse along through the deadly Swamps of Sadness, saying reassuring things the whole time. "That's it. You’re doing fine Artax." He trudged along himself, the words somehow just reassuring enough for himself. He kept saying them, kept scanning ahead for some signs of life or Morla.
Suddenly Artax stopped, fast enough to make Atreyu halt; puzzled, Atreyu pulled on the reigns. Artax didn't budge, but simply looked sadly at his small tan friend.

"Come on Artax, what's the matter? What's wrong? Come on boy!"
Artax faintly nickered but stood still.
"I understand, it's too difficult for you." Bravely, Atreyu switched to another path way, squelching into a deep mud puddle; he turned and--

"Artax...you're sinking!" Atreyu cried out. His heart froze in terror, his mind sprang on despite panic. "Come on turn around, you have to!" The boy pulled on the reigns. "Now! Come on! Artax!" He got closer to the pure white steed and hugged him.

"Fight against the sadness, Artax," Atreyu whispered. Words...words...he grasped at words, reminding, comforting. "Artax, please. You're letting the sadness of the swamps get to you. You have to try, you have to care. For me, I'm your friend, I love you."

Artax still refused to bug; he was dangerously deep in the swamp, and by his own design being pulled deeper. Atreyu slapped a puddle sending muddy water flying toward the horse, trying to upset the horse into charging him. Artax still refused to bug, the swamp up to his neck, he eyes rolling wildly. He let Atreyu pull on the reigns hard, but remained where he was. The boy yelled at him again.

"Artax! Stupid horse! You've gotta move or you'll die!" Yelling. Anger. His friend was giving up--and that wasn't allowed.

"Move, please!" Tearful. Atreyu was begging now. It wasn't supposed to end this way. His voice got strong again. "I won't give up! Don't quit! Artax!"

The steed's wide eyes rolled at him again, just barely above the surface of the deathly swamp.

"ARTAX!"

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When the echoes from the scream of his absolute grief subsided from the stagnant air of the swamp, Atreyu was left with nothing more than limp reigns. The leather strips ran into the ground, marking the final resting spot of his horse, his friend.
...it wasn't supposed to end this way...