Dexter died in the bitter cold, hardly past the line of snow-covered grass that bordered the sandy shores of the Crossing. Romulus found his body in the early morning, when his father’s coat blended into the silvery dawn light; he might have missed it, if not for the familiar scent beneath the brine.

He had been dead for only a few hours, Romulus thought, as he nosed the gaunt temple of the old steel-colored stallion. Had he come here to find his son? It wasn’t unlikely. Dexter had not been a loving father, but he had been a possessive one. Romulus wondered what last message he might have held for his son before he passed, if he even had one. Maybe he had come to tell Romulus one last time that he was a disappointment; that he should have a bustling collection of mares right now, and children with which to barter. Romulus had never cared for Dexter’s judgment, but it hadn’t really bothered him, either. It was a small part of who Dexter was, and though Dexter was not a very tasteful individual as a whole, Romulus didn’t hold it against him. The old man probably couldn’t have changed even if he wanted to, and it was useless to try and reason with him about his more unsightly personality traits.

There was little sorrow in Romulus’s heart when he found his father. They had not been close. Still, as the soft skin of his nose met with the damp, frigid surface of Dexter’s face, he felt the chill of the dead stallion spread throughout him. Romulus pulled his head away with irritation. His dark ears buried into his steely mane, and he turned away from the body without a second glance. The beach was cold; the Lagoon, with its swelling ranks of bachelors, would be warmer.

Romulus, as he strode into the shelter of the Lagoon’s dense trees, found he did not particularly want to be warm. At least not at the expense of his solitude. He avoided the Lagoon herd, then, winding his way deeper into the territory instead. The scent of stallion was cloying and obnoxious, but the underlying scents of mares weren’t much better. The scents lingered in his nostrils even as he wandered deeper into the less inhabited areas, but eventually they turned stale and faded.

Romulus stood still, alone and shivering, and stared blankly into the shadows, thinking of nothing at all.

Romulus