.sunshine heated the sensative pink skin under the white of her coat to an unbearable level. she tried to ignore it. how long would she last? that head held high in a foal's manner. it finally gave in, pressured by sun and curiosity, and turned. a slick motion of cordinated muscles, and the filly was gliding across the pounded earth to the other. the other new one. something else struck her attention...there was another young one. perhaps it was younger than she. but it was still young. the floppy ears pricked attentively. they were as fuzzy as her fetlocks. fine shag as soft as a winter sky. they were soft as almond-colored dust that lingers in the summer haze. and yet now the haze was fading. in its place the gray chill of autumn was coiling grasping fingers. but the present, that was important. she came over at a trot: a swinging trot that had more lift than length. each hoof neatly clipped the earth with a click.

.a million questions bubbled forth. none escaped those velvety lips. they locked in the little one's shyness. so she just stood. patterns of white and black bay covered her, with predominant white. her whole head was the gold-black color, bay you could call it, except for a large star. and a snip. the snip trailed over her right nostril, which was flared eagerly. the wirey whiskers stood out excitedly, and her ears were as forward as she could put them. but a fresh smell wafted from her. she smelled of newly cut grass. of lillies in the valley. it was pure, like skimmed stream water. it was faintly sweet, but none of the summer night's stickiness. it was a cold smell, and refreshing. so she stood, smelling of fresh cut grass with wide eyes.