Nattergal is angry.
A hot magma of hurt and unrest has become an all-too familiar feeling for the yearling colt. He's never hated anyone more than he hates Liland. "You're cozying up to Liland, kissing his ass... I don't get you Havelle. I just don't get you... I'm going to find mom, and I don't need you getting in my way. Goodbye Havelle." Nattergal's own cruel words echo inside his head and intensify the anger he feels for Liland. Liland tore his family apart. Liland took his mother, and now Liland has taken his sister. Nattergal caught a glimpse of Havelle's tear-filled eyes as he stormed off into the jungle. Liland. It's Liland who created this mess. Sure, Nattergal will admit he's said some hurtful things, but it's all because of Liland.
The colt's mind turns with all the horrible things he'd like to do to Liland. Right now the worst thing he can do is not go home.
Nattergal marches a winding path along the trails of Paradise, and as Noctis said, Zjeena isn't there. She is off fighting some war, on who knows what island. Frustrated, Nattergal plunges into the sea alone, with no direction in mind, and before long, he finds himself climbing ashore on the crossing isle. He travels north. A brooding mind wants no part in the crowds of commons, or the lush, open fields of the meadow.
The sun travels a swifts arc across the sky and disappears beyond the western horizon. As night falls, the colt finds himself lost in the woods surrounding the falls. Darkness envelops him, a physical manifestation of the darkness shrouding his heart. There he stays, feeling at home among the trees on a moonless night, and listening to the rush of a nearby stream to drown out the screaming voice inside his head.
But moving waters can't drown out the sound of Nattergal's empty stomach come morning. The colt is awaken by a loud gurgle emanating from deep inside himself. He is startled, and disoriented until he remembers where he is. Dark eyes look around, seeing nothing but thick tree trunks and an earth covered in damp leaf litter.
Driven by his hunger, Natteral steps out, continuing on his path north. His travels soon find him standing in clearing, blinking the sun from his eyes. The great mountains of the peak loom up ahead. He's never seen them from this angle, nor from this close. Their powerful silhouette makes Nattergal feel small. So too, does the stallion grazing alone several lengths away. Nattergal is merely a yearling, standing just shy of 14 hands. He'll never be more than a large pony, and here is this stallion standing an impressive 18 hands. The rise of his withers could match the height of any mountain to little Nattergal.
Nattergal has yet to decide whether he'll risk grazing here near this large stranger, or whether he'll try to slip back into the trees unnoticed before his stomach rumbles again, loud enough to betray his presence.