Meadow

Spring touched the Crossing long before it would think to touch Tinuvel, and the pale golden colt relished in the early rays of sunshine that bathed the meadow. He knew that he should return home soon, that both of his parents would worry where he had gone and what mischief he had managed, but he felt like a wild thing here. Free to wake up in the morning and race like a deer across the open meadow, or duck beneath the downpour of the Falls. No one expected him to play nice or to play fair. He didn't have to share the sweet patches of early grass or hear his siblings bicker over who had found the prettiest rock for next years contest.

He could simply be, and that was a greater gift than it seemed on the surface.

Suleiman was contemplating the path home through quickly torn mouthfuls of bitter new grass when he caught sight of the red velvet filly. She stood like the prettiest beacon he'd ever seen, poised like a statue at the edge of the beach. Dumbstruck with grass that hung out of his mouth to the side, he watched as she danced across the open land with wide eyes. Without thinking, he raised his head and called to her, his voice still somewhat shrill in his youth.

The young stallion hurriedly brushed the strands of grass from the sides of his mouth, leaving a green smear on the inside of his foreleg and dashed after her, calling again in an exuberant invitation of her attention. When he thought she was finally looking at him, he couldn't help but dash to a stop with mane and tail flashing, absolutely certain she would be impressed by his show.

Or, well, perhaps not entirely certain if the quick look back to gauge her reaction was any indication. Dancing lightly on his pale hooves, Sulemain arched his neck and trotted closer before proffering his muzzle for an exchange of breaths. Up close, she was even prettier, although he could not have told you why.

"Hello," he says breathlessly, his ears pricked as far forward as possible. "Where are you from? I've never seen you before."

It is only after rapid-firing this question at her that he finally remembers his manners, and with a lopsided grin dripping with his father's charm, he tries again. "I'm Suleiman, by the way." Casting a quick glance upward, his gaze alights on a tree that stands awkwardly alone in the middle of the meadow. "Tell you what - if I can beat you to that tree, you'll tell me all about yourself. And if you win," he says it with a laugh that lacks any sort of mean spirit. "If you win, I'll go first."