The happy tune that Wilibald had been singing, a lovely tale about a colt and his clover patch, had distracted him enough from his surroundings that he was thoroughly surprised to hear someone call out. The reaction to the hail was not something anyone would likely be proud of, for the chubby pony very nearly soiled himself. Oh dear, not really. But several other things did happen all at once. His heart rather picked up speed; his body gave a jolt so that his legs and head (being the lighter parts of his body) lifted away from the snow; he hollered a “MAYBELL’S MERCY”; and those eyes quite opened up wide, looking for who it was that had called out.

Oh dear, another tall, lean stranger. Wasn’t there anyone a proper size around here? Interrupting a completely peaceful moment just to ask if he was alright? Well, it was a polite interruption but an interruption nonetheless. He had just been getting to the part about the ample bosom of the clover flowers (his favourite part).

Now that his heart had started to calm down a little bit – were those wings? Were horses breeding with birds now? Oh Wilibald where have you ended up? But there would be none of that just quite yet – certainly in a little while though. He had been posed a question and strange-looking or not, this black and white fellow deserved an answer. “Oh yes, kind sir! Quite well. I was only taking a bit of a nap, you see. The snow is quite agreeable for that.” He leaned back where he laid for another moment, proving his point, before he (grudgingly) got to his feet.

There in the snow was a rather beautiful imprint, if he must say so himself. The snow clung to the side that had been nestled in it, giving him a lopsided appearance as he turned to face the taller male. Now that he was right-side-up he got a better look at those wings. Funny looking appendages, they looked as though they would get in the way of just about everything. How could you comfortably lie on your side with a limb sticking out there?

He tried to remember the stories about winged horses but all he could think of were the angels, and he most certainly was not going to use one of the best pick-up-lines of all time on this stallion as a totally serious inquiry. “I would recommend that you try it but you might find it…” And here, with a pointed look at those wings, the pony harrumphed before continuing. “Difficult.” And finally, there were pleasantries that demanded to be shared. “I am Wilibald, son of Hamfast, and I do thank you for your concern.”