Conquistador's head turns to one side, his expression politely perplexed as Dia spoke of smelling the hurricane on the wind. He wasn't even aware that storms had a smell - what would powerful wind and rain and lightning even smell like? He couldn't recall anything out of the ordinary in the hours preceding its arrival; the salt-tanged air had been as thick with moisture as it always was, if a little acrid. The colt was accustomed to the air burning in his lungs, however, and had not recognized it as the faint charge of electricity that often precedes a storm. Even his own restlessness had been dismissed as the simple need to stretch his limbs and run.

The signs were there, he just wasn't adept at reading them yet. Desperate for more knowledge that might someday determine has ability to survive, the palomino yearling hangs on Dia's every word.

"Brought up? You mean by the sea?" he asks, following the mare's gaze to the beach. He's never given it much thought, but the ocean is a world unto itself, a world he's caught glimpses of now and then in the tidal pools. It had frightened him at first - he would never forget how he'd nearly drowned in the crossing to Atlantis with Rade - but over time, he has learned to appreciate the ocean's beauty, and to respect its power. Perhaps it was because the sea was constant, if at times chaotic; by now he has learned tell the time of day or the season of the year by watching the waters recede down or climb up the beach.

He's never dreamed of crossing it again, but he certainly wouldn't mind discovering more about it.

"Let's go!" the colt calls, his fears of the storm forgotten in the company of one of his herd. They are unrelated despite their similar coloring, but Dia is still family to Conquistador; a beloved aunt, perhaps. Someone who he can always count on for a smile and a friendly word, or a bit of the spontaneous fun she's been teaching him to embrace.