Hoshor Plains basalt

She blinked at the sound of her mother’s voice, the soft puff of sweet grass breath fluttering her eyelashes like butterfly wings. She rocked from one elbow to the other, instincts bidding her to move now that she had freedom from the close comfort of her mother’s womb.

She snorted, clearing her nostrils, and tossed her little head in such a way that made her ears flap. She swivelled them, as if surprised by their very existence. She smacked her lips together, smoothing her tongue over her hard gums. Again, she fidgeted, lurching forward with her neck, finding that there was a great deal of weight to her hind end, as if it was a counterbalance.

In her mind, a clock ticked- and with every movement of the clock’s hand came a movement from the foal.