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.

You feel elation as you sprint headlong towards rock and the thin cloud of dust that signals the point which has snared your interest. Though your wings are small and the primary feathers which will one day bear the weight of you in flight are still wrapped securely in frail grey sheaths, you fan each limb out to feel rushing air spill around them. It is a feeling you adore already and the tiny round hooves drumming beneath your approach skip and spring occasionally, all for the sake of juvenile delight. There are tree branches woven together above you and their glossy green foliage forms a pretty avenue; so too is cast a wicked web of shadow that wanders backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, along the path you are taking. So light-headed do you feel, giddy and brazen that you forget to check your speed.

Ahead there grows the silhouette of another horse – and the first thing about her that really strikes your notice is her small size. Though taller than you, her curiously hued form pales in comparison to the looming existence of your father, and your long-legged mother in particular. It is well, because there are not many that pass by your den that stir your fancy in such a way. Unfortunately, it is too late before you remember that you must slow down your pace and with eyes widening in light of that error, you bounce and slide to a clumsy halt. In your favour the other horse has stepped from the course you were travelling, perhaps you might have collided if she had not been so swift-witted.

You realise quickly as you turn to view her that she has wings as well - feathered like your mother and your father – and flashes of startling pink draw your tiny quivering nose closer. There seems to be another creature tangled between her legs. It is much smaller than anything you have seen already, and when you notice it in turn, your short, slim neck bows down towards the earth beneath you. Bright yellow eyes examine it curiously and unafraid, because you have been well protected for the length of your short life thus far. Sharp breaths catch wind of its unusual scent and your tiny, furry ears waver expressively. You are surprised by the contrast of it against the familiar waft of home as it instead fills your nostrils.

When your innocent examination dulls beneath failing attention, you glance back to the other like you, but you do not recognise the body language she offers.

Your diluted yellow gaze dances boldly between the golden pools upon her face – they are much like your fathers, though black streaks their centre. The warmth of gold you have learned to trust, and so you step a one long, thin leg nearer as does she; you mirror her example, flaring your paper-thin velvets, entirely oblivious to the breath she draws in the same gesture. As her mostly white expression lightens into a smile (the brightest points attract you, of course), you too smile – still following her lead. You have not yet developed social awareness, aptitude, and you mimic your company with childish precision.

Her lips part suddenly and a sound you are not expecting strikes your engrossed, picked ears. It does not sound like the humming caress of your mother, nor does it bear similarity to the masculine rumble of your father’s comfort – you think it strange, fascinating. “Tem-pe...” you copy artlessly, pulling the familiar sound of name out from the rest. Your mother has explained that word’s relevance – you have learned that “Da...” is the name of the stallion with the golden-gaze, your father; and “Ma...” is the name of the mare with the bright halo, your mother (both you think of aloud in the moment).

Your eyes trail the other filly’s in the meantime, as she guides you towards the little creature, but when she speaks this time no word pulls above the rest. Absorbedly you watch, waiting expectantly, and you glance naively about you to see if you have missed one like it – of your own. She moves though, extending her fine muzzle forward and with roused attention you do the same drawing unintentionally the delicate, alien fragrance that she carries. An exhilarated rumble stirs in your breast and your knobbly knees wobble above motionless hooves. When her voice rises through the tranquillity for the third time you are ready and eager to receive it, though your understanding still falls short, you derive the word you, and your lungs draw air in preparation to respond.

“Zah-a,” you tell her, practically beaming, and then again as a glorious wave of accomplishment bursts through your mind. “Zah-a!”

“Come!” Your voice is effervescent, cheerful, and her unannounced, unaccompanied arrival in your home does not seem to you, to be unusual. You turn lithely upon your toes, and your hocks unleash their small strength to propel you forward and away from the other – in your excitement you forget to look back – she will follow, of course. You weave a path between towering trees but stray unknowingly from the path, where grass thickens for a moment upon it. The scent of your mother – the guide you have been following – fades and you jerk to a standstill, turning hurriedly this way and that in an effort to recover it “Ma...” you whine, turning to find the filly you assume followed, and your body language is helplessly transparent, telling all about the confusion riddling your thoughts.

She is there, of course, and her company feeds small relief through your veins. You are impulsive, far quicker to act than you are to think, and unfortunately it has landed you in a spot of bother. Your friend “Tem-pe”, is not the only one shadowing you however, and you turn from her with a start – yellow eyes glistening boldly – when another you have not seen before, arrives with haste equal to that which brought you here. Your lungs prepare to burst imploringly, air inhaled and waiting, but the taller arrival speaks quicker, a mumble; a rabble of monotone words that pull your small fluffy ears forward curiously. Suddenly he turns from you, and you follow forward spontaneously with expanding, childish interest – quickly forgetting the reason for your own panic.

Knees lift awkwardly high as your tiny, neat hooves explore the lush, deep-forest grass carefully – like a pup’s first tread on fresh dew – and you peer eagerly wherever he does. You are still breathing heavily; the air you gulp is thick and clammy, and you liken it simple-mindedly to the canopy shining, fluttering before your eyes. Though there is no breeze to stir the leaves, the sun kisses each glossy surface and it creates an illusion that you wholeheartedly believe – the trees around you are dancing, swaying to a tune you think you can hear! For a moment you stand stunned, credulous eyes soaking up the ambience, ears fixed towards the soft sound of nature’s intricate song; but the horse with the golden face-branch breaks your focus.

His long legs swing into action, each hoof thudding to the buoyant rhythm of your heart. You follow obliviously, eagerly, turning your sparkling gaze to Tempe momentarily – though you know she will come along anyway. You are intrigued by this stallion, his coat gleams bronze even as the shadow flickers across it, he is exciting; bold and ambitious! Long gangly black and white legs bound along beneath you until your narrow shoulder swings parallel with his, and you lift your short neck so that it sits as vertically as you can bear above your pinched withers. Eagerly you await the unveiling of your destination, but alas (after only a very short journey – few strides of his), another has descended across your path.

“Da!”

Your voice trills unbridled joy and you slip instantly from the shoulder of your guide. You feel nothing of his paternal influence, only the thrill of recognition and youthful fondness for your father. Your insignificant frame slithers beneath his gaze, the shadow he casts, with wings spread inelegantly (they hold no true feather) and wavering with delight. He stills when you are close and his lips trace down your spine; but you are fidgety, excited, and press like an affectionate kitten against the metal bulge above his breast. He speaks and both words touch your waiting ears – they quiver curiously, swivelling as you try earnestly to understand. “Tem-pe…” you explain confidently – it is the only word you have derived from the trio’s convergence thus far. As your father’s eyes turn away then, you offer a bright smile to your pink-feathered friend and return tardily to her side.