Starlight Reflected on a Sea of Green

As I stretched, my eyelids grew heavy.

Sleepiness did sometimes strike out of nowhere, especially in weather like this.

Back in February, the view had still been the cold snow country of a Kawabata Yasunari novel. Now the temperature had climbed above ten degrees, and in the blink of an eye, the place looked like a tourist destination with no connection to Hokkaido.

It was a fine spring day outside. Sunlight streamed through the stable's high windows, making the corridor bright—almost too bright.

My eyelids grew heavier.

Yawns seemed contagious. Little Light, right beside me, yawned too.

"Oh, even Little Light's tired?"

That was a little surprising.

Little Light and Hibae had begun going out to pasture when they were about two weeks old, while the snow still lay thick on the ground, under the care of Mejiro Gozen, who had taken over from Dober as head of the foals' kindergarten.

Since then, they had spent nearly every day bouncing around.

Little Light had so much energy, in fact, that Anna had looked rather worn out lately.

At that thought, I turned toward the new mother, curled up like a puppy at the edge of the stall.

At first, every noise Little Light made would wake Anna. Now she was used to sleeping through it all.

Breeding really was hard on mares.

At least tonight, she might be able to relax and get some proper sleep. Though even I wasn't entirely sure of that.

I smoothed the wrinkles from Little Light's horse blanket, which was already getting too small, then slipped out of the stall quietly enough not to disturb Anna.

That concluded today's checkup of the yearlings without incident—for the horses or for me.

This year's foaling season had begun as soon as the snow and ice melted.

Breeding