No one’s ever called him a child before, even when he had actually been a child. It’s a strange feeling. He had always considered himself mature for his years, having had a sire who’d bestowed an intense sense of responsibility on him at a tender age.

Maybe I was wrong. I always thought Dad was too serious, anyway.

He stands there with his jaw clenched, glaring daggers at the strange mare before him, as if silently trying to deny her accusation. But in this heat, he doesn’t have the strength to fight it, especially when it’s probably true. Maybe I am just a boy in a man’s body.

“Fine,” he finally snaps, and steps away in disgust when she lowers her head to blow water into the air. What the…? “But you’ll forgive me if I don’t show you around.” It isn’t a question. “Make yourself at home. I need to be alone.”

Then, in a whirl of dark, wet tresses, the stallion is gone, galloping and sweating his way across the sands.