Even with every reason to be a socialite, Asche had found himself becoming somewhat of a recluse over the past season. His time was mainly spent wandering his terrain, keeping an eye on his ladies and the other on the horizon - what was it he was longing for? He did not know. The thoughts that plagued him at night were all too familiar, though. Tinuvel. He had failed there. He would not fail here. Soon he would be a father, that much he knew, and he pined for the new lease of life and the new responsibility as much as he feared it. As he wandered the shore of the ridge, dusk crept in, and he blinked the tiredness from his mismatched eyes as he let out a resounding cry that echoed through the terrain in an effort to call all those who could hear to him. There was something they must discuss.

He felt it was time for there to be a leading mare among them - the children would need protection, and having another figure clearly marked for them to turn to would make the other tasks on hand an easier feat. Silently, as he pulled to a halt, he mused to himself about whom he could see by his side in that way, shaking away the infatuated ideas of putting one mare above another out of affection. No. They would decide among themselves. He would not live in anything other than a democracy.

He waited, eyes aimed towards the ocean. They would come. He knew they would.