Halfway through a mouthful of grass, Kune lifts his head out of curiosity at the youthful call, not realizing initially that it had been directed at him. It’s only when his eyes land on the sight of the coal-black colt with the striking Roman nose that he registers it was his mother tongue he’d heard, and he stands there frozen, a blade of grass poking from his slackened lips. He blinks, and the colt is still there, staring back at him with seemingly as much surprise as Kune feels. Yet surely, surely this is a figment of his imagination, or even a spirit come to taunt him. He had just been daydreaming of the child he would have had with Bozena, after all.
Kune blinks again, and then the colt is backtracking, turning, and fleeing like a passing shadow through the grass. Kune waits only a stunned moment before lumbering after him, first at a brisk walk - being wary of so many curious watching eyes - then a cautious trot, and then a full-out gallop black hair streaming wildly behind him.
He knows a sign when he sees one.
Thankfully, the meadow is wide at this end, and the colt has not quite reached the fringe of trees that skirts the foothills between the Peak and the meadow. Kune’s dark eyes are locked on the colt’s bobbing head, and though the boy is swift, Kune’s long legs quickly eat up the distance between them. When he is just about parallel with the colt, he heaves a sharp breath and calls out to him in an imploring whinny.
“Přestaň prosím! Nechte mě mluvit!” (Translation: Stop, please! Let me speak to you!)
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