It was a stupid idea, a terrible one indeed. Rocks scatter beneath bounding strides that carry the frantic male down the side of the mountain he'd been calling home for the past few seasons, not a care that one misstep could send him over the sides; he was confident, for once, in the way he moves. He cares not for the startled voices of the women he passes as he descends, avoiding the warning bites of the new mother’s of the season. His Switch could have been round with another by now, had he only just listened and joined her in the lagoon, but he was naive and stupid; too proud of his own choices to do what was best for everyone. He longs for his boy, his only one so far, and would surely be his last once his fired up lady got a hold of him. The mountains rise far above and beyond him as he quickens his steps once nearing the forest and allowing the dark foliage to swallow him up.

The journey home was a familiar route, overgrown and riddled with new scents, yet Cullen’s own musk coated the territory border like a second skin. The dunalino stomps upon the invisible boundary line, imaging it sinking into the ground under his prancing hooves. A childish move, yet he cares not for any wayward eyes that may have been watching, picking his stride back into high gear and tearing through the jungle he had missed. The lagoon was beautiful in it’s own right, hiding the dangers that were its inhabitants and keeping those lost souls so foolish as to wander captive. Fiero wonders briefly if Cullen would dare try to label him a trinket for trespassing, the very thought bringing forth a quiet squeal of displeasure and a foregin feeling of insult fills his very being. Was this how it felt to feel angry?

He catches Fuego’s scent, the boy a shadow in the foliage yet he takes off when Fiero’s wolfish eyes land on him in silent retribution for the lack of respect he offers in the turn of his rump towards that of his sire, no doubt racing off to find his mad spanish speaking mother. He snorts out a breath, turning his wandering eyes away, but instead of Cullen they find that of a rather familiar form he thought to be long gone. “Padre”, he greets the older male, slinking out of the trees with his head low yet golden gaze flighting about the area where they finally at last rest on the figure of his half sibling; so this is what young Fuego had been watching.

“Cullen,” his voice is cool and neutral, giving both of the other stallions a wide berth if not choosing to stand more so on the side of his father, the choice evident in the move that it would be clear to Cullen whose side Fiero was truly on. He had told Bozena his troubles and she had listened, offered his loved ones protection just as long as he helped her in turn, and he would. His legacy was here in the lagoon, a place that was indeed strong but now it was divided.

“What a pleasant family reunion this is. I am so glad to have been invited, wanted or not,” there was a certain snarl to his words, mischief swirling within the depths of gold that glanced to his staggered looking father and then to Cullen, missing a good majority of the conversation but here nevertheless.