THE CHILD: 14

Serroi stroked her palm over the leathery shell, feeling a quiet joy as the foal moved under her hand. Across the stall, the mare craned her neck around, uneasy because her egg was near to hatching. She’d been fighting the sling for days; Serroi was there to keep her from hurting herself in her agitation. The mare kicked at the partition with her uninjured foreleg, waggled the splinted one, began swaying in dangerous arcs that came close to pulling her off her hind feet and that made the supporting beam groan as her shifting weight put new pressures on it. Serroi jumped to her feet and ran to her, soothing her with voice and eye-spot. Whispering soft nonsense, she scratched at the loose skin under the mare’s chin until she calmed a little, patted and scratched her a little longer, then returned to the egg.

When she touched the leathery sac, it leaped under her hand. Behind her the mare began kicking and groaning, wanting to get to her egg. Hastily Serroi dug it out of the nest of blankets and straw and staggered with it across the stall. She set it down on the straw under the mare’s nose, knelt beside it, holding it steady as a small yellow tooth drove through the tough skin. The egg ripped apart and the tiny foal tumbled out, kicking clumsily with all four feet, the curved egg-tooth like a tiny horn in the middle of its soft nose. A moment later it was staggering onto wobbly legs, falling, staggering up again. It whimpered, a high hooting whinny, its head moving blindly about, searching for the mother just in front of it.

The mare was hooting desperately, stretching her neck trying to reach down to the hatchling. Serroi wrapped her arms about the foal’s velvety trembling body and lifted it until mother and son could nuzzle each other. When her back got tired, she set the foal on its feet and urged it along the mare’s body until it found the teat and began suckling eagerly. She brushed herself off and sat back on the straw, deeply content as she watched mare and foal.

As the afternoon waned, she began to wonder if her teacher would remember to send her something to eat; she was getting very hungry. The foal was curled up beside her, its head on her thigh. She moved her fingers along its neck over skin softer than new spring grass, chuckling at the silly grin on the new face. “You’re glad enough to be out of that egg. Right, funny face?”

She heard soft steps coming toward the stall and looked up to see a tall skinny blonde stopping outside. She had scraped knees, a tear in the sleeve of her tunic, a bit of tape on her nose—and a basket over one arm. She grinned, hung the lantern she carried on its hook, and strolled into the stall. Bending with an awkward grace, she set the basket beside Serroi, straightened. “You’re the new one?”

Serroi nodded.

Her hard blue eyes softening, the girl knelt beside the foal, holding out a long narrow hand for it to smell. Very slowly she edged the hand close enough to touch the quivering nose, finally stroked it until the little macai honked its pleasure in a series of treble squeaks. Blue eyes dancing, the girl settled crosslegged in the straw facing Serroi. “My name’s Tayyan. Haven’t been here long either. Where you from?”