A Falling Ember

It's Time

As the days pass in the valley, I learn more about the herd. Every spring, when the flowers come up, my mother says, was when the herd migrated to this valley. Every fall, when the forests turned red and orange, we move to a different place. I haven't  seen it yet, as I am only 7 months old. Birch and I are  the closest of friends, separating only when we have to go to sleep. She is the opposite of me, shy and patient, but I guess that's what makes us friends. I learn that my father's name is Everest, and my mothers' is Selkie. I also learn that you shouldn't touch the long coiled things on the rocks, but that's a different story. Life is sweet and simple for me at the bottom of those mountains, each day is greeted by the rising sun, and each night by a myriad stars.
One morning when I wake up, though, something is different. The small group of trees that we use for shade was turning yellow. It is almost fall. I run to the small stream at the base of a mountain and look down. My fuzzy black coat is slowly being replaced with grey, smooth fur. I trot back to mother for my breakfast of milk, but when I try to reach under her belly, she nips at my flank and walks away! I am confused.
"Mama? Why can't I have milk?" I plead.
"It's time you were weaned." she replies, and walks over to join the other mares. My nostrils flare with annoyance. I run off to where Birch is standing.
"I'm hungry and Mama won't let me drink milk," I complain. She tosses her long black mane.
"Eat grass! Mama weaned me a few weeks ago. It's good."
I reach down and nibble at the weeds below me. Then some more. And more. I look up at Birch with my mouth overflowing and she laughs. I kick up my heels and race over to the stream. I am not a baby anymore! I am almost a year old, and I can eat grass! I am so proud of myself. River and Luna are over by the stream too, flirting and nipping at each other. River isn't small anymore. He is  bigger than me, but he still has some of his baby fuzz. The rest of the day passes normally, and a few days after that too. Mother isn't feeding me milk anymore, but I have grass and clover to eat.
When I wake up in the morning one day, all of the 6 mares are gathered in front of my father. Us colts and fillies try to poke our heads through the bodies but we eventually resign to just standing on the outside of the group. Father begins to talk.
"My herd, the forests have begun their slow transition to the oranges and reds of fall, the sun has been setting earlier and earlier. Our colts and fillies who we once looked down to are growing up-"
"Get to the point!" calls Lilac, Mystic's mother. Mystic looks embarrassed.
"As I was going to say," father begins again, "It's time to migrate."
The herd cheers and I jump in the air with excitement! Finally I can see the world beyond the valley!