When, between inception and conclusion, beginning and end, birth and death, do we first develop consciousness? Is it something that starts the moment you are released unto the world or does it begin sooner than that? As event is stacked upon event and memories are shuffled to fit within the limited confines of our memory, the beginnings of the mystery called life are often obscured by more recent episodes. We no longer recall the first time light touched our eyes as we were squeezed out from the wombs of our mothers, how it stung and burned and made us gasp - for the first time allowing lungs to inhale sweet air, which from that moment onwards will be our main provider of life. More than food, or water, or even the luminous touch of sun, the air is what sustains us - and also what finally kills us. Oxygen is toxic, see, and for each breath we take our cells break down, age, die - it is quite ironic really, how dependent we are on such a toxic substance.

But I digress.

To Kari, life did never begin with his own birth. Even the act of creation from which his particular spark of life originated would remain trivial, fleeting, of little importance in the grand scheme of things. Why? Because even before he slid from the birth canal of the mare named Shadow in a stream of blood and bodily fluids, to land upon the red sand in a tangled heap of legs, wings and tail, he was aware. During the entire time he had developed within the body of his mother the colt had been fed with information about her, visions of her life from birth up until this very moment flashing before a mind still in development until there was nothing left to see.

And now, as he lay sprawled over the ground struggling to take that first, vital breath of air that would for ever chain him to this existence called life, he was fed information once again. Grains of sand pressed against a slimy gray coat and relayed the history of their creation to the newborn, relentless visions of scorching days under a red-hot sun, freezing nights where frost glittered upon every inch of the ground, lit by distant unsympathetic stars, of wild dances through the wind in desert storms. Back to the moment the grains of sand was part of something bigger, stronger, a rock broken loose from a sturdy cliff that had stood its ground against torrents of rain and wind and now finally had been forced to give in. More, more, the images kept flashing before his inner vision and told the tale of the land itself, of countless hoofs treading its surface while other creatures buried through it, rain drizzling through minuscule cracks and dripping into vast underground reservoirs, where water flowed in fast rivers never touched by the light of day...

Soft, feeble coughs finally cleansed the airways of the boy and with eyes stinging from the distant light of a new moon he raised his head for the first time in his life, weak and lost in the vast recollection of memories that did not belong to him. Shivering as a cold wind made grains of sand rustle by and chilled his damp body he turned, looking at the dark lump that lay behind him. Something warm was spreading from her, a liquid that covered him as well and spread a pungent odor into the air. Blood the memories of the mare told him, and with that knowing followed fear, an emotion learned from study and silent contemplation of her reactions through the years.

Awkwardly long limbs began to stir. Featherless appendages extending from the shoulders waved in the air, grotesque stumps that in few days would sprout magnificent feathers large enough to carry him through the sky one day; now they merely stimulated the motion of the tail, a long slippery ringlet of fur sporting a damp whip of silk at the very tip that slapped the ground as he tried to rise.

Much too early, of course. It would take several more minutes before blood had ceased flowing between the placenta and himself, before the umbilical cord would tear and forever set him free from the creature that had birthed him. The question was whether he had that much time. Already Shadow was weakening, her blood trickling out in a slow yet unyielding stream to soak into the sand... The dry, greedy sand that swallowed it up without mercy, uncaring whether it was rain or some other liquid that went to slake the thirst of the few plants that managed to live in this harsh climate.

Even so the newborn tried, ignoring the futility of his attempts. It was a sense of urgency that drove him, a need he could not fully explain but had seen played out before him as a black foal stumbled onto her feet aided by a gentle creamy mare. Oh, he knew too much already, little Kari, and yet had so much to learn. For the visions couldn't tell him of the passing of time when he had yet to experience it for himself. He just knew, that at some point he was to rise, watched over by a tall figure that gently nuzzled his body and licked it clean from foul fluids, his voice and her voice calling out in wordless confusion that gradually would turn into affection.

Perhaps the urgency stemmed from how reality deviated from the visions he'd had. As minutes dragged by the movements of the black mare grew slower and more feeble, her tail ceasing to swish over his rump as the breaths turned shallow. She didn't rise from her position on the ground, didn't turn to watch what her body had created against her will; and Kari was left confused, alone, cold.

The tentative whinny was faint as it expelled from his throat, vulnerable; it drifted away with the wind and left him with naught but silence, and the fading heartbeats of a black mare.