Loneliness is a running theme here on the Ridge. It seems everyone who washes up on these rocky beaches is either running from it or trying to find it. Vodnik may be the only one in denial about his own loneliness. He has always been surrounded by others. Most of his life was spent surrounded by a boisterous crowd of bachelors. Physically, he was there, with them. But never has he truly been with anyone. He isolates himself from for others and only allows the parts of him he wants to be seen to drift to the forefront.

There may not be any one traumatic event that marks the cause of Vodnik's troubles, but there has always been a general atmosphere of instability and an overabundance of shallow relationships that have molded Vodnik into the hardened and distant personality he is today. He is not a fearful or hateful creature, but neither does he know love.

It is a brisk and chill winter afternoon. Vodnik is full after finding a lush patch of green on his mountainside. Warmed by the sun, the snow melted away, leaving remnants of a summer past exposed for eating. Following his meal, he decided to go for a walk, see what mares he could stir up, or find out what his mysterious second is up to. The black stallion has been missing for quite some time.

He wanders through the dappled light of his shoreside pine barren. The trees buffet the wind but Vodnik's long coat still sways as if stirred by a breeze. The stallion is imposing as ever in his winter woolies. His thick coat gives the illusion that he is much larger than he already is. Even his head has grown visually larger, adorned with a magnificent beard. Legs as thick as tree trunks carry him along a winding path. His heavy footfalls are muffled by a soft bed of damp pine needles.