Meadow

It is not his first time away from the Bay, but it is his first time off Tinuvel. Khoshekh explores the fringes of the Crossing uncertainly, as though to step off the sand of the shore would be to commit to this adventure — as though he hasn’t already committed by making the swim here.

Eventually, he works up the courage to continue. Spring is in full swing on the Crossing, and there are far more green things and flying creatures around than at home, where winter still clings desperately to the thawing land. Bright flowers flutter tantalizingly in the breeze, which is chilly, although the sun is warm. Kho buries his nose in a few as he makes his way aimlessly inland, sneezing a good couple times from the pollen.

A voice drifts over the tall grass and flower petals, grabbing Khoshekh’s attention. The yearling’s head swivels over to see the source, and further along into the Meadow, he spots the dark face of another colt, peering up into the sky. Every once in a while, the other boy — a little older than Khoshekh, he thinks — strikes out at the air, but his face does not appear to be in any distress. Is he playing? What kind of game is that?

Abruptly, Kho wheels around to go bounding toward the other colt. He watches the spotted boy flinch as he stumbles ungracefully toward him, in so much of a hurry to invite himself into this game that he loses his footing several times in the tall grass.

“Hi! Sorry!” he gasps, shaking himself off, thrusting his nose forward — although he hasn’t quite invaded the other boy’s space yet — to invite him to exchange breaths. “What are you doing? Can I join?”