The desert was big.

The little amber filly didn't know what to think about how big the desert was.

She hadn't been very far, of course. Mother and Father wouldn't let her stray from the oasis unless they were with her. She went to the beach, once. If the desert was big, the ocean was huge. Her little mind couldn't comprehend just how large the ocean was. And so she had played in the sea spray with Mother and Father and Say-bull. The - what was the word? - the kit-ten. Yes, that was it. Sabel the kitten. She was fun, particularly since the flicka had no understanding of claws and the damage that they could do if not properly controlled. But Sabel had controlled her claws, and they had had fun

The filly was very familiar with fun.

But she did not understand yet that the world was much larger than the Dragon's Throat. Of course, she did not understand the concept of world yet, either. She understood home, of course, and she was beginning to understand that her home had a name. Just like she had a name. Mother and Father had names, too. She had learned some other names, of course. Some of the Throat foals, and some of the adults. And, of course, Aunt Rowan. The filly though that her godmother (though she didn't yet understand that concept, either) had a very pretty name. At least, it was pretty in her mind. Her mouth wouldn't quite work with the 'r' sound just yet. It was a bit frustrating, but the youngling was so preoccupied with fun that her inabilities did not anger her for very long.

In fact, she was a very happy-natured little filly, which was both a blessing and a curse to her parents. They wanted to protect her, of course, but it was very difficult to reign in such a curious, friendly filly. She had no knowledge of enemies yet, nor of pain or suffering. She did not truly understand death, either, though she had been born so close to it. Instead, she frolicked to and fro, usually under Mother's watchful eye, meeting the other Throat inhabitants and getting into the usual amount of childish trouble. But today, Mother had left her with Aunt Rowan, and the flicka had every intention of making the most of this quality time.

Long, gangly legs stretched as she bounded to her godmother's side. "Auntie," she said in the adorably demanding tone of a foal. "Does the desewt go on fowever?"

"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

---

Skysong