At the Fountain
    
Pegasus eyed Bellerophon warily. In all his years of coming to drink at this strange little fountain of silver-tipped waves and cool, sweet winds, he had never seen another living creature. The moonlight and the sighing of the breeze, scented with jasmine flowers, were just the same—but this young man with the golden bridle in his hand had changed everything.
    
The young man and the winged horse stood at opposite ends of the secret fountain. Neither moved. In the moonlight the tall, black-haired man might almost have been a statue, but for the gentle, trustworthy look in his eyes as he watched the horse. Pegasus looked like a statue, too. He had a silver-gray coat, golden wings, and dark eyes full of inexpressible loneliness.

Pegasus was lonely: he had never had a friend. His mother had died when he was a foal, and since then he had roamed the world, awestruck by its beauty but always solitary. Now, confronting Bellerophon, he wondered if he could trust him—perhaps even be friends.

Bellerophon spoke. Rather than disturbing the peace of the night, his gentle, firm voice enhanced it.

“Pegasus—will you let me ride you?”

Pegasus took one step toward him. And another. And another.

Bellerophon stroked Pegasus’s warm, silky coat with a light hand. The winged horse stood still. He was ready. He pawed the ground eagerly as he felt Bellerophon slip the bridle over his head, suddenly excited.

With a quick leap, Bellerophon mounted Pegasus; Pegasus sprang upward. The moonlit fountain and the dewy lawn fell away. He was flying through the sky, among stars and winds, and he heard his new rider’s voice urging him on:

“We will be friends, Pegasus—we will explore new lands and perform brave deeds and roam wherever we wish—together!”

Horse and rider soared into the east, where the sun was just rising, transforming the sky into a glorious mix of red and gold and windswept blue, ready to meet the new life awaiting both of them—together.