Bellerophon and the Winged Horse

There was once a boy named Bellerophon who dreamed every night about a white horse with wings.

One morning he woke up very early and walked to the magical spring called Pirene, where beautiful things sometimes came to drink. He sat on the edge of the fountain and waited, very quietly.

For a long time, nothing came. Then he heard a sound — a soft beat of enormous wings.

Out of the sky came the most beautiful horse he had ever seen. It was pure white, with two wings folded against its sides, as wide as a swan's but much, much larger. The horse drank from the fountain, its muzzle dipping into the cool water.

Bellerophon held out his hand, very slowly.

The horse looked at him. Its eyes were dark as the night sky and full of stars.

Bellerophon did not move. He barely breathed.

The horse took one step toward him, then another. It pressed its soft nose into his hand.

His heart nearly burst with happiness.

He climbed carefully onto the horse's back, and the wings opened wide, and they rose together into the sky. The village below grew tiny. The sea became a silver ribbon. The clouds were soft and cold on his cheeks.

Bellerophon laughed and laughed, all the way up into the blue.

He named the horse Pegasus. And every evening after that, Pegasus would fly back to the spring, and Bellerophon would be waiting for him with apples and a warm smile.