There was a particular song his mother sang to him before he went to bed as a young colt, that went a little like this;

If I had wings like Noah's dove
I'd fly the river to the one I love
Fare three well, my honey fare three well...

He had no idea why the folk lullaby came to his mind suddenly, but as he stared at the lovely mare, fallen asleep beside him, Sweetie Belle, he couldn't help but to sing it to himself, sing it to her as she slept. He loved her. He loved her. Did he?