Sleepy Fox Hollow This love is gettin' kind of dangerous

the sun crested the rim of the hollow like a golden crown, and pippin wore it proudly.
wobbly legs no longer buckled beneath him—they sprang. they launched. every jump sent dust puffing up around his pale hooves as he tore crooked little circles through the grass, tail a fuzzy banner behind him, ears too big for his head flicking wildly with every bound.
ma! he belted, voice cracking sharp like a colt much older than his days.
he kicked his hind legs out behind him in a flurry of joy and nonsense, nearly tripping over himself, then caught balance again with a snort and a shake of his head.
ma, did you see that?!
he didn’t wait for an answer. already lifting into another half-hop, half-buck, already winded, already thrilled.
a clump of flowers met his teeth as he stumbled into a graze mid-gallop. he snorted it out and pranced sideways, gangly and proud, circling back toward @Selenia with wide eyes and wild steps.

<3!

pippin was as irritating as he was adorable, though selenia thought she knew why her colt's antics were so exasperating.

her body's hormones were changing as the mare prepared to conceive a third foal. fancy's own cycle had quickened that of selenia, though she would not come close until the proper moment arrived.

colosseum, while nice to look at, was not welcome so intimately. not yet.

pippin's piping little voice received an amused snort in spite of his mother. "i saw. you're getting very good at jumping. so come on," she whickered, leading him a small ways off from the herd. "let's race. show me how fast you can go."

wear him out before bedtime, yes, the equivalent of setting a small child free at a large playground.

pippin’s ears shot up like tiny flags, his whole body jolting with the thrill of her words.
race? he gasped, nearly tripping over his own shadow.
his rump wriggled with excitement, legs stamping the dirt in place.
then she moved—and he squealed, spinning on his hocks to chase her like a windstorm wrapped in fur.
ma! i’m comin’! he hollered, all breath and bounce, his hooves drumming a lopsided rhythm behind her.
he surged forward with all the power his twiggy legs could muster, tail flying, nose outstretched like he might catch the wind in his teeth.
i’m fast! i’m fast! he whooped, his voice cracking with joy as he nearly collided with her hip, then darted ahead—just barely, just once—victory pulsing in his little chest like a drumbeat.

a rock tripped him.
he flailed, recovered, and kept going.

no fall could stop him now.
not when he was racing his ma.

he certainly was fast, though he'd be faster once he learned to use all his breath for running. selenia kept her pace, even slowed it a little — oh, no. she was hurrying again, but pippin was fine, sailing ahead.

hardy little thing. she was proud of him, that emotion standing proud in her dark eyes.

still worried he'd bruised himself, selenia soon caught up, gait even at his side and neck arched, slowly guiding her colt in a wide arc back toward the herd.

i was racin’! pippin huffed, voice high and breathless, legs still a blur beneath him even as his sides heaved from the effort.

he flung his head up dramatically, nostrils wide and lips puffing, as if he’d just conquered the whole hollow with his four wobbly sticks of legs. grass clung to his knees. dust lined his belly. pride beamed from him like sun off stone.

he noticed her slowing, coming up beside him, and gave a triumphant snort—wheeling just a little too sharply to the side, nearly tripping in his own excitement.

didja see me, ma? i was like—
he gave an exaggerated buck, legs flailing mid-step, —pow! real fast!

then, sensing her guidance, he fell in at her side again, wide-eyed, still trembling from the thrill. he didn’t ask if he won. didn’t need to.

he was flying.
and mama saw it.

"you were so fast, baby," selenia whickered to the excited colt. he was so much more — well, wild than his older sister had been. she was looking forward to seeing them interact. 

would pippin have liked the golden fields? he was suited here, her feral foal with flying hooves.

"you keep practicing, and soon you'll be able to ask the fawns and the elk calves to race," the buckskin went on as their gait slowed to a canter. "they're around. we'll see more of them as it gets colder. be polite, pippin. show them you're nice and much faster."

i am nice! pippin huffed, puffing out his chest even as his legs started to wobble beneath him from all the running. his ears flicked back for a moment, bashful, then forward again with renewed energy.

but i’m so fast too. faster than fawns. faster than all of ‘em.

he gave a little sideways hop for emphasis—half canter, half skip—then looked up at her with shining eyes.

you think they’ll wanna race me for real, ma?

his tail swished, lifting with excitement. i’ll be polite... but not too polite. 'cause i still gotta win.

"i understand," selenia said, hiding her little smile. "you need to win. i get it. but, you need to learn how best to run on different kinds of land. the elk calves are bossy, but they can show you how to race straight up the side of a mountain. the caribou calves don't speak horse very well, but they are fastest in a flat-out gallop, and they can teach you how to hold it for a long time. the fawns, you won't be racing them. you can learn how to be very quiet from a fawn, how to leap a log and land silent."

she was in her element now, teaching about the other ruminants in their world. "antelope are smug. they can't show you much more than pronking, which is — well. you'd have to see it for yourself, and it's unlikely we'll ever meet an antelope. but you may meet mountain goats, who may be very rude. do not be rude in return. they are testing you. mountain sheep are similar. get to know them, and like the elk, they'll teach you ledge-running. bison are one of the biggest. it takes many, many wolves to get one bison. what they can show you, though, are the best and most consistent grazing grounds."

"and moose. well. moose are the biggest, but — best to simply not try and speak with them. they haven't bothered to learn anyone else's language, simply because they don't have to learn."

pippin’s ears twitched, flicking forward with every new name.

he didn’t say a word at first—just listened, wide-eyed, soaking her voice in like sunlight, the rhythm of it almost bigger than the words. his breath slowed from its usual huff-puff gallop. even his tail stilled.

he looked up at her, eyes blinking slow.

moose sound kinda mean, he murmured, thoughtful.
then, after a beat—

but i can learn everybody’s language.

his head lifted, proud but curious. i wanna race a caribou. and then an elk. and a mountain goat. and maybe even a bison. but not a moose. and not a fawn either. i’ll just sneak with them.

he leaned a little closer, nudging her leg gently, the top of his head pressing into her.

will you show me how to be quiet like a fawn? you’re really quiet, ma.

he looked up again, ears flicking softly.

and you know so much.