He was hardly as quiet as a mouse, despite his small size; blundering through the foliage without a care of who or what may hear him. Fuego was ecstatic for the freedom, the wonderful feeling of stretching his legs and making a mess of things without Switch guiding him back to their hideaway. Why did his father wish to keep him from this? Other than a warning of certain men that also called the lagoon home, Fuego hadn’t seen much that could do the young colt harm or dare try to with his wickedly tongued mother ready to give anyone but him a good lashing. Adults and their stupid rules, he snorts, skipping through the mud even faster as the sparkling hues of water catch his eye through the trees.

Fuego fills his gut when at last reaching his destination, the cold liquid sliding down his throat settling the warmth of exhaustion he feels from traveling so far. Before he makes the move to plunge even further into the small pond his little ears catch the voices carried to him in the winds. Neither are familiar but the first sounded young and caught his interest enough to pull him away from his long awaited prize. Quick hurried steps bring him to the pair of horses on the opposing side of the pond, catching onto the words spoken by the golden stallion who has appeared at the other colt’s side. “Hey!”, Fuego calls out to them, his pace sending him bounding forward to get between the other foal and the older man. The roan boy was a stranger to him, for now, but his sire had told him a few things concerning the lagoon boss before him. How many other golden stallions were in the lagoon anyway? Surely this was to be this Cullen guy.

He glances over to the colt, ignoring the stallion for the moment. “Are you okay?”, he asks the boy, genuine concern on his face as he questions him. The colt looked out of place here in the lagoon yet his golden eyes, which reminded him of his father, stood out the most. Were they related somehow? Fuego himself had gained his father’s wolfish gaze, but it wasn’t as brightly colored; a mixture of his mother’s warm brown resided within the gold hues of his own gaze.

“I am Fuego,” the dark colt offers up with a tiny grin; a grin that fades completely when looking over to Cullen. His ears slant back, wishing now that his mother would leap out of the brushes and set her teeth upon the male, but he is not so lucky. “Papa told me of you,” is all Fuego says to the lagoon boss, his voice snarky and lacking his typical social graces he gave only to his mama.