He had followed the red and white one, for she had accepted him. He was already intelligent enough to know that she was not blood and yet her colors brought him comfort and sense of family. She provided him with the sustenance he desired and kept him with her children as if he was her own. In a sense, he had already accepted her as his mother and the dark one as his father. They looked so much alike already, he and Dark Father, but their eyes betrayed their differences. Zagan’s young mind soon forgot that he had a family elsewhere that may be worrying for him and had accepted these others as his own. What hope had he of finding his blood family anyway? He was just a whelp less than a year old.

Life within the fold of these feral beings was not always easy. Dark Father always held that hungry look in his eyes when Zagan caught him watching and the child knew better than to stray too close to him without Red Mother. A bond was forged between he and all of them though as he spent his time among them; even an attachment toward Dark Father. He was stoic, proud, and something that Zagan began to look up to as time wore on.

But there was a change upon the wind and soon their happy family was moved from the comfortable den among the fields. He vaguely remembered making such a move with his other family before and he wondered why these were choosing to the same. He follows Red Mother loyally, moving as fast as his short legs would go to keep at her heels, and mimics her every movement. The grasses are tall and yet Red Mother is taller, making it easy to see her bloody cape above the tips of the fields. He stops when she does and moves to stand at her right front leg, head turning upward to look at her before sniffing the air as well. He senses her unease and turns his own muzzle to nudge at her leg, ensuring that all is well when they are together.

Her gentle nip upon his ear is a comforting thing and soon she off at a pace that he simply cannot keep up with. But he does not worry. It is clear that they are now travelling within a territory as the faded scents of others wash into his nostrils. He knows that once he is within this land that he will be safe and does not fret over her disappearing. She will be back.

His obsidian form presses through the sea of grass until he ascends a small hillock where they thin out and become shorter. For the first time he is capable of seeing much of the land and marvels at how expansive it is. To the right there is rolling waves of blue and to the left there is a large woodland far off in the distance. He will explore them both someday soon, he decides.

There is something familiar that is carried in with the ocean breeze – a scent that is carved into the depths of his memory. Mother.