One, two, three - no.
One, two, - start again.
One... Gee, you're not very good at this, are you?
Today presents you with a very important task: You don't know why but you need to count the rocks here. No, not all the rocks in the entire Steppe - just the big ones near the water. At first, of course, you were mostly enamored with the water itself. It moved right before your eyes, alive except not. So you spent a good chunk of the morning investigating that, skipping your tiny hooves through frigid waves, your little tail sticking straight up like the very appropriate exclamation point it is. By now, morning wanes, but you've already learned a lot of important things.
One: Water tastes awful compared to milk. Even moving water. You'll never drink water again. And for an instant or two, you really miss Mama - even spend a good bit of time with your heart beating fast as you try to remember where she got to. Wasn't she with you a minute ago? Wasn't she just talking - watching you? Weren't you supposed to not run off? Is this an emergency? The kind of thing that requires screaming? Maybe - Oh, yeah - she's over there. You catch her scent at last and remember you wandered away to investigate the shh-shh of the rolling waves. So, you're okay. You won't die of starvation today.
Anyway, thing number two: Another you lives in water. You sort of learned this the other day when you tripped in a puddle, but now you're sure of it. He looks just like you but he doesn't smell like a horse, and all he does is follow you around. You don't really like him, but after a lot of exaggerated splashing, you guess he's okay. You'll let him live, and you won't go running to Mama for help.
This brings us to - okay, okay. The rocks.
You noticed the rocks. They're big, flat, good for jumping on. And they're just kinda - laying about. So you make a game out of jumping from rock to rock, your tiny hooves scrabbling every now and then as you hit a patch of lingering ice. And as you jump, you count, only you can't count very high yet and you keep forgetting the order the numbers go in. Then you have to start over. You kind of like starting over, though, because it means you get to jump on the rocks again. One, two, three... four... You don't mean to, but your tiny wings flap with each leap, as if preparing for the future when you'll need them for more than games of hopscotch. And every time you trip, or forget, or lose count, you trot dutifully back to the first rock and start over again. You're really good at trotting by now.
You're so absorbed in your little game you forget about the world around you in no time. And it's rock, rock, rock... Your hooves make a pleasantly rhythmic noise on the cool stone. If you bothered to think about it, you might want to invite your sister to the game. If you had friends, you might want to invite them, too - but it's okay, I'm sure you'll make some. Maybe someone else around here likes counting rocks?
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