Her world had been blackness and comfort for all the time she had committed to her limited memory. Blackness and cradled comfort. When the walls of her cradle had begun to constrict, however, she had only enough time to realize that she did not want the pressure that threatened to crush her before she is tumbled out into warm sand and took her first breath out of sheer desperation.

Her ribs ache, her legs feel oddly, but she opens her golden eyes at the mother-of-pearl shimmering being before her and knows immediately who that was.

The cradle. The warmth and comfort and thrilling racing legs.

Her eyes blink madly, wide when at last they remain open and seeking. The smells, the sounds-- all too much. All too much, all too soon, and she bleats a small whinny of protest before her mother turns and begins to clean her off. The sensation is invigorating, but just the barest bit overwhelming. Too much. It is all still too much--

She lunges to her feet as she had seen the Cradle do-- to no avail. Her tumble is bare, hardly a swap of laying on one haunch to laying on the other… but when she sees the black figure on the horizon, well. She shrills a note high and demanding, watching with envy the spindles that speared into the earth of the tall child.

The next sight, of course, stilled her to quietness again. Maslakhat, to her, was a giant and that adrenaline surges her to her feet as the eyes of the giant stranger fell on her. Another failed attempt, this time with her remaining quiet, still, and a little bit in awe.