The mind is a funny thing. Children developed ears, eyes, noses, and a mouth. We could see, touch, hear, and smell. The only difference was I had developed a fifth sense to make up for the one that had been forgotten in the development stage. Nobody knew why babes are born the way there are, all we knew was that each of us was special. I had spoken to my mother before birth, but seeing as memories didn’t properly take hold until later—such interactions would be fondly remembered by her alone; and perhaps shared as fond stories down the road.

I could express every emotion, every nagging idea through this attaching bond at will. Think of it as, strings of light that could be extended--touching those around me until they could hear my voice. Through this link would only pass my feelings and thoughts, not theirs. This made the task of learning rather fun, interesting and challenging. Because I actually had to earn my answer, I couldn’t just rattle tongue when the mood struck, I had to work for knowledge; and I was slowly becoming a very eager student.

The nubby tip of my horn butts against mothers shoulder in passing. She turns to gaze at me before pushing her face against my nose playfully. A puff of air emerges like something that might have been a snort had it made noise. My smile widens when she trots a few steps forward, beckoning me to follow--an invitation didn't need to be prodded twice. I was all about momma allowing her daughter to do a little more exploration. Gleefully, gangly limbs shuffle their length across the field. The grass tickles as its blades brush against the lower part of my knees. Again I snort soundlessly and lower muzzle to the ground while sniffing deeply. Snout wrinkles in disgust at the fragrance it finds, mother’s milk smelled and I was sure tasted much better.

A grasshopper emerged from the undergrowth, its hops flick it away from my face. Infant orbs locked onto the bug much like I honed onto mother at night when tummy got rumbly. Like a beacon this little creature holds my attention and leads me forward a few steps before freezing in the grass. That was of course when another girl entered our little slice of heaven. Her scent is foreign, not like momma, and certainly not like myself. The hopper is forgotten and head spikes up just as a bay appaloosa comes within earshot.

Plum ears are pressed ever forward and smile has vanished leaving in its wake a cute little frown. The stranger approaches and my limbs make haste to magnet myself to mothers hindquarters. Heart speeds when the girl comes over and began to talk using her mouth; why did everyone use their mouth? I wonder my ignorant thoughts, as the older filly finally turns to address me. Snout press’s into the spot conjoining momma's hip and stomach for comfort, but I do not totally shy away. I wasn’t afraid of this older girl, more or less uncertain.