The young Prince stands beneath the thick canopy of the jungle, his glacial eyes fixated on the vibrantly colored feathers of a Scarlet Macaw. His ebony ears flick atop his crown, as he watches with curiosity as the macaw preens its feathers, and then begins its insistent cawing. A mini bugle leaves his pink lips as he tries to scare the bird into flight. With a huff, he turns from the macaw with a bored look on his face.

"Fine," he snorts as he moves down the trail toward the ocean's bubbling surf. He breaks into a lengthy trot, his head head held high on his shoulders as his head turns side to side.

A movement in the jungle catches his glacial eyes, a brightly colored horse wanders alone. He angles his body and immediately heads in the direction of the strange horse. His short silver flicks against his haunches with a smack. A nicker escapes his pink lips as he nears her, his ears stand erect in his short tufts of silvery mane. He halts near to her, his little head tipped up to look upon the loudly colored mare.

"I am Prince Sigurðr," he says with a proud lift of his head. "Are you lost?" he asks with a tilt of his crown.