The Story
Long ago, in the old Greek stories, there was a horse unlike any other horse. He was white as morning cloud, strong as mountain wind, and from his shoulders grew two great wings.
His name was Pegasus.
Pegasus did not belong in a stable. He moved between earth and sky. His hooves could touch the stone path, and then, with one lift of his wings, he could rise above the hilltops where the air was clear and bright.
One day Pegasus came to a dry rocky hillside. The grass was thirsty. The flowers bowed their heads. The birds were quiet because the land had no water.
Pegasus lowered his head and listened. Then he lifted one shining hoof and struck the stone.
From the place where his hoof touched, water sprang out: clear, cold, and singing. It ran down the hillside in a silver thread. The grass stood up. The flowers opened. The birds began again.
People remembered that spring for a very long time. They said it was a spring for poets and singers, for anyone whose thoughts needed to rise like wings.
And when Pegasus had finished his work on earth, the old story says he rose so high that he found a place among the stars. On clear nights, people looked up and remembered him: the winged horse, carrying wonder across the sky.