Faolain had not known that there were depths to the Ridge undiscovered until she was forced to follow Vesper into them.

The spindly creature was incredibly adept at finding hidden places. She was almost spider-like, Faolain thought, but would not say such a thing out loud. The filly was silent most of the time, prone to shockingly quick movements, and had a tendency to scurry into the undergrowth and into some cavity in the vegetation that was invisible to Faolain on the outside. The adult mare did not often fit into these spaces behind Vesper, and had to find her way around them, to whatever other opening the filly would pop out of a moment later. It became a sort of game. They didn’t speak much when they played, but Vesper didn’t speak much at all.

Today, the game ran late. Faolain followed lazily after the dark little filly as the shadows grew long beneath the tall trees of the Ridge. Vesper pranced along a narrow trail, used somewhat often by the residents of the Ridge, as though she had a very precise destination in mind and was exactly on time to get there when she wanted. Whimsical tendrils of leaves and vines brushed over Faolain’s neck and back as she tailed obediently after, just far enough away that she could always see the little flag of her daughter’s tail, and the single white freckle that sat just above it and stood out in the growing dark.

Suddenly, as Faolain expected, Vesper changed course with the speed of a hunting cat who has spotted movement to its side. In an instant she was gone, scrambling through a tangle of vines and undergrowth, her little freckled rump disappearing into the grey-green of shadowed foliage. Faolain paused at the site where Vesper had scrambled away, and ducked down to peer after her. Could she fit through, and follow behind her daughter? At first glance, Faolain was certain she could not, which was usually the case. But upon further inspection, and after pushing her dark face through some of the leaves, Faolain found the vegetation to be flexible and yeilding. She continued, pushing through the tight tunnel of flora, following the little scrabbling sounds of tiny hooves. Surprisingly, the black mare fit pretty well into the hollow.

After a few slow steps off the path, Faolain stopped. She could no longer hear Vesper wiggling around in the vines before her. Unfazed, the mare held still and listened. To her right, she could hear very small movements, like someone trying to stay quiet as they prepared to jump out and scare someone. A sly smile tugged at her chiseled face, and she waited for the impending attack.

A new sound came from her opposite side, and Faolain turned, confused. Vesper poked her head out of the leaves to her left now, but she could still hear movement to her right. If not her own daughter, who was trying so hard to stay quiet over there?