I was born without birth, born without breath, to a new place, a new plane. A golden light emanated from my brow, suffusing my body and being in a warm radiance. I had no memory, no prior thought or experience to draw from; my existence was laid out before me, new and complete, and yet something niggled on the edge of my consciousness, like the wispiest traces of a dream half-recalled, though I did not know then what a dream was, did not understand this sensation of something lingering, undefined.

I tentatively untucked a hoof, young and untried, and slowly, carefully tested my footing before raising myself on legs unused to this new gravity. My body was young, but I could feel power within it, a power which would be steadfast within me as I grew outwardly. I was all sureness, serene and knowing, this simple self-knowledge my birthright. I lifted my nose and took my first breath- an inquisitive sniff, both instinct and acknowledgment of my being alive, a breathing being, though breath is voluntary for our kind, a leisure rather than a necessity. I found my senses keenly attuned to take in the spectrum of my environs, fullness and subtlety alike, a missed beat in a birdsong overhead, the rich smell of loam trampled underfoot.

I stepped to a nearby patch of grass and flowers warmed by a shaft of sunlight from an opening through the trees, and inhaled the heady green, living scent released by my gently scratching hoof, and lowered my head to taste the sweet, humble growth of this place, my home. A squirrel rustled about its business nearby, but I had no cause to quail at the sound; I knew nothing of fear, nothing of doubt or concern. This was not the place for such troubles. Would that I had never remembered what I had been born to forget.