A week has passed by already and you are growing stronger all the time. The gangly legs beneath your slim frame no longer stagger clumsily when you will them forward, there is a pleasant smoothness to each stride now and you are learning the art of haste. Often childish excitement overwhelms your calm demeanour, and you leap and frolic erratically from the safe, dappled flank you have come to depend upon. Though you are careful never to slip out of your mother’s view - ever obedient - curiosity has become a key quality in your personality and every day you find something new which challenges your interest.

It is afternoon and you stir from sleep as your mother’s long bristly whiskers tickle your cheek. The reassurance of her warm breath upon you incites a fond smile and your tiny, tapering mouth lifts to bump playfully her lowered nose. She tells you gently that it is time to drink and steps from your reach - perhaps as a lure to encourage you to stand. There are already many words tucked into the repertoire of your mind and you rise eagerly from the soft bed in the den. Without hesitation you manoeuvre across straw towards the mare’s twitching flank and the reeking hue of warm, leaking milk welcomes your arrival. Eagerly you dip your fine skull beneath and the short fuzz of tail behind portrays easily your delight.

Soon the supply begins to weary, but you have been well satisfied.

Meals always make you groggy, and you lean heavily against the flesh of the mare to gather back some strength. Unwearyingly she waits, fondling affectionately the lean, downy ears upon your skull, and your narrow head bounces beneath her touch, thoughts vague though assembling. She tells you with a firm tone that she needs to find grass, and your pale yellow eyes glance thoughtfully about – you often confuse her food with other things green and for that reason say nothing. Always you are learning. The world is intimidating, but you have no better teacher. You trust your mother, and listen steadily whenever she pauses to explain. You are fond of her voice, the manner of her instruction, and she seems not to pass by any detail.

Similarly, you have learned to follow your father on brief ventures beyond the den – he is patient, lenient and never holds you from the caress of your mother for long.

She strides forward and each of your scrawny legs swing into motion in a bold effort to match her elegant gait. Always one ear of hers is trained down towards you, and you glance up frequently to find her encouragement as you step alongside. It takes more self-discipline than you possess to hold such composure for any length, and before long you are springing away – bucking frivolously and cavorting, as the sunlight warms your coat. Your mother does not slow, she is headed towards the central pasture and your intention of course is to follow, but a scrabble behind you and an unexpected cry snag your attention.

Your body stills in a heartbeat and you lift your nose into the air like you have seen your father do (not yet however, have you learned to test for the scent of another). Eyes sparkle with intrigue as the sunlight spikes their golden-midst – you can see movement near the cliffs. Your mother warned you to not stray that close to the border and you hesitate visibly, dithering as your conscience and your curiosity war. You do not want to violate the rules she has set. Tiny nostrils sink to blow against the soil path beneath you, but your eyes and your ears remain fixed towards the clatter. Your skin flinches with anticipation, it is unbearable, wild and you have not the life experience to understand reason.

Rapidly you break towards the cliff - you are fearless and pure.