Honestly, when she finally grew up enough to know that it takes two horses to make a baby, her mother had just shrugged and told her a name. Ashhal. Not that she knew this guy's name, or even knew what he looked like. Other than that she's a little slimmer and slightly taller than her mother, which was only one thing to go by. Oh, and probably grey. In that case, this guy fit the picture... just like a hundred or so other stallions. This strange form of immortality, she also had from him, but, seeing as that wasn't exactly something that easily showed, there was no way to know that other than to ask. Which she wasn't going to do now.
She can't help but secretly like the bickering they do, though. When she calls him mudpie, he tells her to watch herself, then suddenly a scooped up mudpie (indeed) flies towards her face. She raises her own wing, though even if it doesn't hit her eyes, it splatters on the feathers and therefore showers her in mud droplets.
She scowls at him. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to be nice to little infants?" Of course she hadn't - or perhaps he had grown careless later in life. And, surely, she wasn't an infant - not really. She was a trained three-year-old warrior. Too bad she had no muscles (AGAIN) to show for it, and her wings refused to carry her - again, also. And milk teeth. She'd been trying to munch some grass with those, which had somewhat helped feed herself. But they weren't fit for an attack.
Shaking her head to get rid of a mud droplet near her eye, she steps forward to meet him nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye. "I bet you forgot. You're supposed to walk me home or find my mother for me, like most morons do." she tells him.
has always been within
@[Ashhal]