I'm an ex-parrot pinin' for the fjords [Avocet]

[avocet]

His vision comes to rest, not on hooves - but paws. Avocet is still fresh - damp and shivering from the (cruel) cold shock of this new world -  so he knows nothing about lions or wolves. Instinct will warn him of predators but it's only message now is to rise. To stand because it is safer on wobbling and teetering legs than to be folded down on the bed of meadowgrass they had been delivered on.

Click, click, click, comes the sound of his twin and Avocet tumbles down again when he loses his focus. The bay colt is determined and his younger sister has the luxury of balance, thanks to those non-equine limbs. The traitless child has only the gifts of his equid ancestors; those long legs that seem impossible to master in the first minutes after arriving into the world.

Eventually, he gets it. He still wobbles and Avocet makes no sudden movements. His small head dips low and he uses it for balance, not shifting one way or the other. The older twin stands still on splayed legs until something unusual happens. A word is murmured in his still-wet ear. It means something. He doesn't know what yet but the foal understands that this word holds something for him.

Avocet. His name.

The second word has a meaning, too. Manikin. His sister. Avocet feels brave enough to lift his head and watch as his beaked sibling moves along one side of their winged dam. Copying her, the bay colt moves to the opposite of their mother until he can reach for the opposite teat. He is careful - more mindful of his sister's sharp beak than concern for their mother - to reach for it and loses himself to the first meal of his life, slowly filling his belly with contentment.

It's shortlived, a feeling that doesn't last much longer than he's been alive. His sister trills and his mother growls so Avocet pulls away and sighs.