Step....step....

"Dashie?" I called out. A few tiny hoof taps sounded against the wooden flooring of my house, and a particular cyan filly darted around a corner and skidded to a stop in front of me, gazing up at my face with those large, innocent violet eyes of hers. She blinked. Not only a week ago had she uttered her first words, and just recently she had been exploring the house while I was away at work.

I set my keys in the cupboard above the sink I normally keep them in, before reaching down and grabbing the filly with both hands, setting her on the countertop by the sink. She sat down on her haunches, and continued staring up at me as I cranked the handle on the sink engraved with a large "H". Water poured out the nozzle, which quickly snagged her attention.

I had retrieved water for her before via the sink (as my refrigerator's water dispenser had been broken since before my parents passed), but, from her diminutive vantage point, she had never actually witnessed the water flowing forth from the pipe. She leaned over the sink and tried to drink from the stream. I couldn't suppress a chuckle... I used to do that when I was younger.

Suddenly, she recoiled sharply with a cry as the steaming hot water burned her lips. She lied down and put both hooves to her mouth, her eyes starting to tear up. I stroked her technicolor mane, which seemed to calm the soft whimpers emanating forth from her tiny vocal cords.

"Ow.....Ow...." Dashie muttered, under her breath. I felt guilty. I should have warned her of the water's temperature before she took a sip. With my other hand, I reached over and opened the refrigerator door, retrieving an ice-cold bottle of water from a pack I had recently bought, before setting it down in front of her, letting the fridge's door shut by itself under its own weight. A few days ago, I had decided I would buy bottled water for her instead of giving her tap water like I had always done; my Dashie deserved only the best I could manage.

She began licking the condensation from the sides of the bottle, enjoying the cold feeling on her scorched lips. I picked it up for a moment, and unscrewed the cap, before holding the opened bottle to her. She attempted to grab it with both hooves, only slightly managing to grasp it due to the slick sides, so I continued holding it for her, enabling her to drink without dropping the bottle. She placed the bottle against her lips, and I tilted it for her, slightly, so that the water would flow. She drank eagerly, but stopped after only an estimated 1/12th of the bottle. Maybe it was due to how small she was. "...Th...Tha...Thank you..D..Daddy..." She stuttered, her young lips quivering to find the right sounds.

I set the bottle down to bend over and rub my forehead against hers. "Anytime, Dashie." Ever since she had learned to speak, she had been referring to me as "Daddy". Several times I've told her my real name, but she always forgot. She would address me by it for a few short minutes, but if I so much as left the room and came back, or changed topic, she again spoke to me with "Daddy".

Does she really think of me as a parent? She doesn't really strike me as MY child, because after all, we were different species. But yet.... I feel this... attachment to her, in the back of my mind. I shook it off; I'll think about it later. Right now I need to bathe the smelly little filly.

Noticing that the sink was full of water, I turned off the nozzle and gently picked up the filly, lifting her small body over the pool of liquid. She was small enough to fit in the sink, so there were no problems with that. My intent was to bathe her, and I had even gone to the supermarket and picked out sensitive-skin shampoo prior to this, just in case regular shampoo would cause a burning sensation or something. Right now she smelled...like a wet dog, to put it simply. I wasn't sure if I should bathe her once a week like, ehm, a dog, or make her bathe every day. Eh, I'll figure it out.

I....didn't notice that the water was still steaming, and incredibly hot. I obliviously lowered her into the pool of liquid, but she began squirming at the sensation of steam curling around her cyan fur, and looked at me with her large violet-rimmed eyes.

"D...Daddy! Daddy n-...no! No!!" She squeaked, her small cyan wings flapping ineffectively. I lifted her away from the water, setting her back on the counter to the side, about to ask her what was wrong, but she quickly scampered away from the sink. She overshot her mark and fell down to the wooden floor with a yelp. I quickly ran to her, relief washing over me as I saw that she had landed without any harm.

I picked her up again, which caused her to resume her squirming, but a soft "sshhh..." from me caused it to gradually die down. I set her on the counter again, by the sink, but she backed away from the water. I stuck my finger into it, only to quickly retract it as I realized how hot the water was.

I heard Dashie whimpering and picked her up again, holding her tightly to my chest with one arm as I used the other to flick a switch on the counter to drain some of the water from the sink. I turned on the cold water, knowing that it would lower the temperature of the bathwater, and let it flow until I could stick my finger inside the pool and it not be burnt.

"Dashie, I'm sorry... I made the water too hot. It's better now." I said softly, stroking her mane again as she stared up at me from the crook of my elbow. I could see her mouth moving, trying to pronounce the letter "w".

"W...W..Wah...Wat..." She mimicked, her gaze darting from me to the sink and back. I picked her up again with both hands, and attempted to lower her into the sink once more. She whimpered slightly, staring down at the liquid, but once her back legs dipped into the pleasantly lukewarm fluid, her fearful expression shifted to one of curiosity. I let her sink completely into the liquid. Her curious expression shot back to fear as the water swallowed her up to her neck, and she began squirming again, splashing water all over me.

"Dashie, it's okay. I'm just trying to get you clean." I explained. She seemed to understand, and quit her flailing, sitting still.

"W...W....Why?..." She asked, in that tiny voice of hers. I found myself laughing at the irony. I didn't expect her to understand why she needed to take baths; after all, she is a child. My laughter was only met with more confusion, as I could see from her amethyst eyes, semi-concealed by her now-wet mane, which hung limply in front of her face.

"Just hold still... you'll like being clean, Dashie. I promise." I reached to the bottle of shampoo I had bought specifically for her, and popped the cap, before squeezing some of the green gel onto the filly's rainbow hair. She looked up at the bottle above her head with large, curious eyes.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, I started rubbing her all over with it, the simple gel erupting into a mountain of white bubbles. Dashie was scared at first, but gradually she started giggling at all the bubbles floating around her head and on the surface of the water. I smiled at her, finding the scene to be too adorable to go without a picture. I dipped my hands into the bathwater to rinse the soap off of them, before walking to the other end of the kitchen to fetch my camera, which I left so conveniently placed on a stool next to an outlet in the wall.

Upon sighting it, I realized something...

I hadn't taken any pictures of Dashie yet. And this was a magnificent opportunity.

I smiled widely and grabbed the camera, zipping in front of the bathing filly and holding it in front of her. She looked at the camera cautiously, even wading backwards a little in her impromptu bathtub. "Smile, Dashie!" I told her, and grinned from ear to ear myself, hoping it would rub off to her. It did. She smiled and began playing with the bubbles again, and I chuckled as I snapped the picture.

Dashie froze at the bright flash. Her irises constricted, and she started whimpering in fear, hear ears folding as she pressed herself against the back wall of the sink. I was going to take more pictures, but I decided it was better to just slip the camera into my pocket and take them later. I looked at her sympathetically, rubbing the shampoo on her hair again.

"Dashie, it was just a picture... it's so we'll always remember this. It's okay..."

She calmed down at my touch. A good five minutes passed, filled with our shared giggling, the kitchen being filled with soap bubbles, and Dashie shying away from me when I attempted to wash her "no-no" place (she insisted she do it herself...without me watching. So I looked away), before I turned on the faucet and moved her under it. She giggled even more at the warm water rushing over her, but closed her mouth and began spitting when some of the rinsed-off soap flowed into her muzzle.

Eventually I rinsed all the suds off, and laid out a nearby towel next to the sink for Dashie. She climbed out of the water onto it without my assistance, receiving praise from me for doing so all on her own, before gazing up at me with the most adorable grin on her face. I had just slipped my hands under the towel in preparation to wrap it around Dashie for drying, when she decided it would be a good idea to shake the water off, like a dog.

"D-Dashie!!" I playfully called, lifting my arms to shield myself from the shower of water droplets that flew off of her tiny cyan body. When she was done, I dried her with the towel anyway; shaking the water off only removes so much.

"Now now Dashie, you can't be doing that. It's not proper. Use a towel, like I am now." Personally I didn't believe that human etiquette laws applied to ponies, but I didn't want water being flung all over me each time I bathed her, so I figured this was the right thing to tell her. She frowned at me for a moment, before nodding.

"O-Okay...D...Daddy..." She said, giving in. I pulled her into a hug, which she gladly returned, me noticing that she smelled like green apples. It was the shampoo. Either way, I set her on the ground, and she happily scampered off to the living room, before stopping upon the realization that I wasn't following her. She trotted back to the kitchen and stared up at me. "D-daddy? A..Are...y-you...coming?..." She stuttered, her unfamiliarity with speaking taking grasp on her lips once more. I laughed to myself and walked to her, before bending her over and picking her up, walking to the living room with her.

An idea suddenly formed inside my head; she was a pegasus, right? Wouldn't she enjoy flying, or anything close to it? I decided to test my theory, and held her high above my head. She gasped suddenly, but quickly began giggling, mixed in with the occasional "Whee!" as I walked to and fro around the room. I laughed along with her, seeing her joyful face from below as she flapped her small wings, pretending to be flying.

I haven't known Dashie for very long, but I love her. She's a shining ray of hope, of possibility, of a future, in my dull, monochromatic life. Seeing her happy, no matter what the source may be, sparks that same, unfamiliar-yet-familiar feeling in my heart time and time again.

Joy.