Though the evidence of his senses had seemed undeniable, the blue colt was granted a few peaceful seconds in which he was certain he’d imagined the sounds. At the same moment a sigh of relief parted his dark lips, a younger foal appeared on the distant bank and lowered his head to drink. Tipping his own ears forward curiously, Sciannath watched and wondered. Where was the other boy’s dam? And had he chosen to wander this dark place alone - a foolhardy venture at best - or was he equally lost? These questions burned in his thoughts and crept towards the tip of his tongue, yearning to be asked.

But before the roan could open his mouth to speak, a larger figure loomed over him.

Sciannath couldn’t know that he had been found by Cullen, but somehow his instincts were certain that he was in danger. Heart thrumming in his chest, he gazed up at the golden male like a lamb facing a lion. Too scared to flee but unable to find his voice, the gangly young stallion could only remain silent, hoping that the stallion grew bored of waiting for a response and moved on. Had he still been a child, Sciannath might have chattered his teeth or tucked his chin in a show of submission. But with the third spring of his life approaching, that instinct had long ago faded into insignificance - and even if it had not, Rade’s words echoed in his mind. As the palomino roan’s son, the strength of weakness he showed reflected on the old stallion. He could not bring shame to his sire by showing his figurative belly to another, no matter how deeply the claws of fear dug into his lungs.

As if sensing the wavering of Sciannath’s resolve, the shadowy boy whom he’d seen at a distance was suddenly beside him. With a shock that nearly caused him to miss the other boy’s words, the blue roan realized that the colt had placed his body between himself and the strange stallion. And while neither of them could accomplish anything against the strength of a full-grown adult, the fleeting brush of his skin on Sciannath’s lent him a measure of the bravery that the smoky black was already showing. “I - I’m fine,” he hastened to reassure the other, not wanting to admit how frightened he still was even as the erratic thunder of his heart threatened to betray him. “Just startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else here - I thought you might be a wolf.”

He grinned as if finding humor in his own mistake - when in truth, the hungry look in the stallion’s eye did little to convince him that he hadn’t stumbled across a wolf after all. What did it matter if this particular predator happened to wear the skin of his own kind? Rade had already warned him of the darkness that could be found on the Crossing’s southern tip - and Sciannath had begun to conclude that that was just where he had unwittingly wandered. The Lagoon, where cruelty was commonplace and blood was but another form of currency.

I am Fuego, his young companion spoke before turning attention to the older creature with a hostile edge to his voice. Papa told me of you. It was pleasant to have a name to put to the face of his new friend, but Sciannath could glean nothing from the latter statement. He knew neither the inky boy’s sire nor the yellow stallion that faced them both. And yet - beneath the weight of both of their expectations - he crumbled at last, and yielded his own name.“I’m Sciannath,” he spoke with a glance at the white-marked palomino. Perhaps this answer alone would be enough to sate his curiosity, and encourage him to move on. After all, the average stallion did not usually concern themselves with the antics of the young, unless they happened to be related. There was little reason for it, and nothing a grown stallion could hope to gain from a colt.

Or at least, that was what Sciannath wrongly believed.