The rabbit was taunting him; Dawn was almost certain of it.

The entrance to its burrow was a ways down the hill, nearly hidden by a thick tussock of prairie grass; the little animal sat inside the threshold, peering out, nose wiggling. Every now and then it would extend its neck out into the sunshine, only to pull it back in quickly, as though sensing a threat. Then it would lean out into the sun again, only to duck back inside. In and out, in and out; Dawn wondered if the rabbit knew that he was nearby, watching him.

No, that's not possible. Dawn was downwind and ducked low at the top of the hill, still as stone. Can he see me? He did stand out a little – though still young, he was long-legged and muscular from constant travel. And then there was the small fact that he was black from head to hoof – nearly a shadow on the hillside.

The rabbit emerged from its den once again, this time far enough for his ears to spring into the air. Dawn's own ears pricked in excitement. Maybe he can't see me. He shifted from hoof to hoof excitedly. Can I catch him? Rabbits were pretty fast, but Dawn liked to think that he was faster. He'd beaten Earth and Under Star in plenty of races before. If he would just come out a little farther...

As though he was answered from beyond, the rabbit crept out of its hole up to its hind legs, ears pricked, nose high, drawing in the air. Dawn shifted, gathering his legs up underneath him and bunching his muscles. He would wait for the rabbit to come out a little farther, and then he would dive down the hill, barreling towards his quarry so fast that it wouldn't know what hit it. I wonder what Thunder will say if I bring back a rabbit? He wondered if the big, lumbering stallion would be impressed – a rare thing where he was concerned. He'll have to be. Catching a rabbit, when I'm not even three summers old? Not even Thunder could grunt at a feat like that.

The rabbit was fully out of its burrow now, bounding forward cautiously as it scented the air. It still seemed to be unaware of the shadow plotting at the top of the hill, already reveling in his victory.

Here I go! Dawn thought, heart pounding. One, two, three—

"Dawn! What are you doing all the way out here?"

The rabbit spun around in terror, racing back towards its burrow. In a heartbeat, it was gone.

Groaning, Dawn turned to see Rain climbing up the hill behind him, looking none too pleased. Snorting angrily, he stomped forward and met her halfway.

"Look at what you did!" he said in irritation. "I nearly had that rabbit dead to rights, until you scared it off!"

Rain narrowed her dark eyes at him and cuffed the side of his head with the joint of her right wing. "Don't yell at me, youngster," she said. "That's what I should be doing. Didn't I tell you to stay within my sight?"

"I did!" Dawn said indignantly, shaking his sore head. "I just went for a little walk, and—"

"And decided to put nearly an entire horizon between you and me," Rain interrupted. "Thought you were being sneaky, were you?" Dawn opened his mouth, but she snapped, "No more talking, unless you want me to have a word with your mother. Go rejoin the others before you get into more trouble." She clopped to the side, pointing down to the rolling fields beyond with her wing. "Go on."

Dawn ground his teeth together, but didn't protest, tossing his head in annoyance as he clomped past Rain and picked his way down the hill. How boring! Why had Midnight chosen his grandmother to watch over them today? She never let them do anything interesting — in fact, all she wanted to do was graze and nap in the sun. Dawn's nostrils flared in frustration. He was tired of eating and sleeping!

Near the bottom of the hill, he found Under Star and Earth milling about, chewing cud and tearing wildflowers from the earth. The former looked up when Dawn came to join them. In the strong sunlight, his wings gleamed like the surface of a lake at high noon.

"Dawn, there you are," the young stallion said. "Where did you run off to?"

"Over there." Dawn swung his head towards the hill. "I was hunting a rabbit."

Earth lifted her head, ears pricking in interest. "A rabbit?"

"Yeah! I almost caught it, too." Dawn explained how patient he'd been, waiting for it to creep out of its den and planning his method of attack while he did so. "I almost had it," he grunted. "But then..." He glared over his shoulder; Rain was a ways away, tail flicking away flies as she grazed. "Someone interrupted me and scared it off."

Under Star's eyes rounded with sympathy. "That's too bad."

"I'm sure you'll get it next time," Earth added.

Dawn just grunted. He wouldn't be catching anything anytime soon if Rain had her way. He dug his hooves into the thick prairie grass, frustrated again. His mother, Mountain, had told him more than once that he had too much energy, and today he agreed with her, for he itched to do something. And he knew exactly what: Fly. For just a little while.

Ever since Storm had fallen ill, the herd had been grounded, trapped in this stretch of rolling prairie, and not being able to taste the sky for several days was beginning to take its toll on Dawn. He gazed up at the endless blue, feeling a pang in his chest – the wind was high and the sky was clear. Perfect weather for sailing on the breeze. He snorted angrily.

"I want to fly," he said.

Under Star swallowed a mouthful of cud. "Fly? Fly where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere." He paused, considering. "The sea. I want to see the sea." He'd only seen the great expanse of water once, when he'd been two summers old. Until Storm had fallen ill, Midnight had been leading them towards the coastline again, where they would have rested before charging across to an island holding the herd's summer grounds. Now that they were stuck here on this stupid, stifling prairie, he was more eager than ever to see the roiling, surging stretch of water once again.

Earth was confused. "But we can't go to the ocean until Storm is better," she said. "Midnight said—"

"I know what Midnight said!" Dawn snapped, stamping at the ground angrily. "But I don't care! I'm bored, and I want to do something fun! I'm tired of waiting on stupid Storm!"

Under Star and Earth stared at him, stunned at his outburst. He couldn't believe that they looked so shocked at what he'd said — weren't they as bored as he was with being on the ground? Didn't they want to fly and explore like he did, instead of waiting until Storm felt better? What was wrong with them?

Then he realized that they weren't shocked at him as much as they were frightened of what was behind him. A shadow crossed over the prairie grass, one that looked like a gigantic eagle. But Dawn knew better — the wing beats were much too heavy.

He turned, in time to see a massive stallion descending down towards him like an angry thunderhead. He might as well have been — the earth rumbled when he landed, and the beat of his wings blew back Dawn's mane back like a storm's gale. Dawn scrambled backward to give the huge horse room as he cantered forward, but he didn't stop until he was right in Dawn's face. His lips were drawn back, and his eyes were glittering with anger. When he spoke, his breath was cold and smelled like ozone — it made Dawn flinch back.

"What was that about Storm again?" Thunder growled.

--

When they reached the valley where the rest of the herd was putting down for the duration of their stay, Dawn's head was low, such that his horn was nearly tearing a rift through the dry soil. Now I've gone and done it.

On the contrary, Thunder's head was high, his footfalls heavy enough to leave huge hoof-prints behind in the grass. His monstrous wings, black as Dawn's, were lifted high, folding in and out — he was still angry, even after the tongue-lashing that he'd given Dawn back on the prairie. Behind Dawn, Under Star and Earth trailed into the valley after them. Both were looking at Dawn sympathetically. No doubt they were glad that they hadn't slipped up like he had. Rain pulled ahead of the group, leaving them behind to join the other mares in the small clearing they were currently calling home.

The terrain here wasn't much different than back in the fields – grass, certainly, trampled down into a springy mat thanks to days of members of the herd coming and going. There was a tree near the bottom of the hill, and a small, muddy stream wound its way through the center of the clearing, tumbling further downhill a ways away and to lower ground.

Storm was there, near the water, bending over and taking a shaky drink as Mountain and Midnight stood beside her, whispering encouraging words in the mare's ear. The sick pegasus looked even worse than when Dawn had seen her last – unsteady and dizzy, her eyes appeared glassy when Rain trotted up to them. Dawn's grandmother and Mountain spoke softly before Rain extended her wings gently against Storm's flank, turning her around and guiding her underneath the tree to rest.

Thunder came to a halt in the center of the clearing and swung his head around. "You two," he said to Under Star and Earth. "Go. Midnight!" he lifted his voice as he called to the Head Mare. "I need to talk to you."

Earth hurried away, and Under Star cast Dawn a worried look over his shoulder as Midnight trotted over, Mountain trailing behind her.

"How is she?" Thunder rumbled.

"About as well as she looks," Mountain said worriedly. "She's warm, and she's confused. When I woke her earlier today, she didn't know where she was."

"Does it appear that it'll happen soon?" Thunder asked, casting Storm a concerned glance. The mare was under the tree now, leaning heavily against Rain, her eyes closed.

"I suspect so," Midnight said. "She's already dangerously overdue. In a couple of hours, I'm going to wake her and take her on a walk. Hopefully, that will bring it on."

"We need to feed her first," Mountain said fretfully. "She hasn't taken anything down in over two days. She'll have no strength if she doesn't eat. We need to..." She frowned suddenly as she noticed Dawn standing at Thunder's side, trying to make himself small. "Dawn, why are you here?" she asked.

Dawn looked away, unable to meet his mother's gaze. Midnight narrowed her eyes.

"Has something happened?" she asked.

Thunder looked expectantly down at Dawn – when he didn't move, he opened one of his wings and used it to push the young stallion forward. "Go on," he growled. "Tell them."

Hot with embarrassment, Dawn chanced a look up at his mother and the Head Mare. They, too, looked expectant. But while Midnight had a still calmness about her, Mountain already looked angry, and her expression all but said, What have you done now?

Shifting hoof to hoof, Dawn mumbled, "I said something disrespectful about Storm."

"Speak up, Dawn," Midnight said.

Spine tingling, Dawn straightened and said a little louder, "I said something disrespectful about Storm."

Mountain huffed; Midnight narrowed her eyes. "Go on."

Feeling like he was being strangled, Dawn told the two mares his remarks about Storm to his friends. Every word was a struggle to get out of his mouth, and burned his tongue — hearing himself say them aloud, in front of the older pegasi, they sounded shockingly mean and callous, and he almost couldn't believe that he'd said them so casually to Under Star and Earth a short time before.

When he finished, he was hot with shame – it was made worse by the looks on the other pegasi's faces. Thunder's lips were still curled, and Mountain looked ready to trample him under hoof.

Instead, she cuffed him on the side of the head with her wing. "I had no idea that I raised such a self-centered colt," she scolded. "To say such a thing, at such a time... Have you no shame, Dawn?"

He looked down at the ground, wishing that he could sink into the soil and disappear. "I'm sorry." He looked pleadingly up at Midnight, whose expression remained unreadable, frighteningly so. "I didn't mean to be rude to Storm, I just... I was bored, and I wanted to get to the ocean, and I was frustrated because—"

"I'm sure that Under Star and Earth are feeling just as restless," Thunder interrupted him. "But you don't hear them bad-mouthing Storm. Perhaps they actually understand what it means to have respect for their elders."

"I respect Storm," Dawn protested. "I just—"

"Silence." Thunder swung his head in Dawn's face, and he backed up shakily. "Your excuses bore me, colt."

"That's enough." At Midnight's voice, the huge stallion backed up, folding in his wings. Midnight stepped forward, looking between Mountain and Thunder. "I will handle this," she told them. "Why don't you go see what Rain has to say about Storm?"

Snuffling irritably, Thunder inclined his head towards Mountain. He drew her away, guiding her back over to Rain, who opened her eyes as they approached. Dawn watched them go, trembling now that he was alone with Midnight. When Thunder had brought him back to the valley, he'd expected to get scolded only by his mother. Now he was about to be lectured by the Head Mare, a position he'd never found himself in before. It was frightening — he'd take a tongue-lashing from his mother any day over this.

"I'm sorry," he said again before she could speak. "I won't do it again, I didn't mean to..." Gazing up at her, he found her mouth had tightened, and swallowed thickly, realizing that he shouldn't have spoken out of turn. Yet, he couldn't help but say, pleadingly, "I'm sorry... Am I in trouble?"

Midnight's tail spun in a high circle. "You are in trouble," she confirmed.

Anxiety weighed in Dawn's belly like a stone. "How much trouble?"

"I think you know how much. Or do you see insulting your elders as a laughable offense?"

Her voice was cool, her gaze dark and disapproving. It made him desperate. "I don't," he said pleadingly.

"Don't you?"

"I don't," he insisted. "Please believe me."

"I'm inclined to believe Thunder," Midnight rumbled, her tail still spinning. "Someone who claims to understand the importance of respecting their betters would have the integrity to do so even when out of sight of those betters. Under Star and Earth do, but you choose to make light of Storm's discomfort at such a time when she needs our support, every one of us. It's shameful to think that I have someone like this in my herd. Your mother is right — truly, you are selfish."

Dawn's head hung. Never had he felt so wretched — every one of the Head Mare's words hurt worse than a stinging bite or a cuff on the head. And worse, he felt that they would continue to sting, long after this conversation was over, because he so greatly admired the leader of his herd. Like him, she was jet black, but in the light of the sun, that blackness went into a violet sheen, the color of the sky at night under a layer of burning stars; in flight she exuded an inexplicable strength that made it hard to look away. Not the same as Thunder's strength, which was raw and furious and coarse, but a glory and a grace that made her appear to rule the heavens, and any space in which she stood. Little wonder Dawn always felt so small between her and Thunder — sometimes they didn't feel like pegasi, but higher beings, storms in horseflesh.

"What can I do to make it up to you?" he asked.

Midnight tossed her head. "Is it me that you've slighted?" she growled.

He lifted his head eagerly. "I'll apologize to Storm at once."

"And what will your apology do for her? Will it ease her pain? Quench her thirst? Calm her mind? No. She's enough to worry about without you telling her about how little you care for her health in this trying time."

I care, Dawn thought, but he dared not say it. He didn't want to anger Midnight any more than he already had. And besides, he wasn't even sure if he meant it. He would have been concerned if it was Mountain, but Storm was not his mother. He felt bad about what he'd said about her, but he still felt the same: he still wanted to leave this flat, boring place, with its tall itchy grass and blinding sun. And he still resented Storm for keeping them here.

He felt a pang of guilt at his unkind thoughts. He looked away before Midnight could see them on his face. "What do you want me to do?" he asked her.

"I want you to come from that self-centered place from which you view the world," the Head Mare said sharply, making him flinch. "I want you to change the way you see our herd, and your place in it. And I want you to grow up, colt — one day, I will no longer be your keeper, nor will your mother, and it will be up to you to manage your own affairs, find your own solutions. Today you will find a solution to this problem you've put yourself in, without my help."

He chanced a look up at her, and found her looking back stonily. He blinked. "Without your...what do you mean? You're not going to tell me what to...?"

"No, I'm not. But hear this." She leaned down close, breathing threateningly in his face. "You will make this up to Storm, and you'll do it today. Or else I'll know the reason why."