It had been a day or so since her arrival on the shores of Paradise. The setting sun had been even more glamorous than the sunrise she’d witnessed, but she wasn’t about to miss the second one… She had to know if it were only that one that was special, or if they were all like that. So the very next morning before the rising sun, Firestorm had snuck away from the stallion she’d warmed up to in a short couple of hours. It wasn’t terribly difficult for her to find the beach again, as the shift in the air told her.

Soon enough, she found herself on the beach so that she could witness the rising sun and gaze upon colors she’d only dreamt of. It was a beautiful display, and she agreed it paled in comparison to the setting sun… but she favored that first sunrise over them all. For it had taught her a very important lesson: that sometimes she could be wrong, and that it was okay if she happened to be. It was a humbling experience in truth. So when her head turned after the oranges and pinks of morning gave way to the blues of daylight, she looked upon the line of dense jungle and wondered what else she’d been wrong about.

However, that was when out of her peripheral vision movement caught her eye: The waves were behaving strangely. Her ears would shift into a position of discomfort and uncertainty much more quickly than her head turned so that she could look in the direction of what she could only describe as strange movement… And that’s when she saw the ghostly form of Ironclad. There was a twist of something deep within that made her stomach feel... Queasy. This causes her ears to lean further back, pinning against the shag of her sorrel mane.

There was a great divide within the depths of her mind that was quickly dividing into factions. On one side, there was the instinct that demanded she turn tail and flee to Temblor, so that he may ensure she’s unharmed. He’s already proven, after all, Temblor had no interest in harming her. He would have, with how many times she’d kicked at him or tried to bite him if he desired it. Then in stark contrast was the demanding side of her that demanded she chases the boy-king back to his icy shores, where perhaps history might repeat itself and his father may collect and push her towards the herd, only for her to slip away during a brutal whiteout that very nearly had resulted in her death. Then there was the part of her that was concerned about her lack of decision-making. Firestorm was never a mare who was divided, she made decisions and followed through on them quickly. But there she stood, ears pinned and looking every bit the dour image she’d been those days upon the bitter cold of the Inlet before her disappearance.

So by the time he was close enough to both see and smell her, it was too late: He’d know she was there, without a doubt. Instead of turning and fleeing as a mare might in the presence of a rogue, Firestorm would have pressed forward to meet Ironclad. By the time she meets him, she hasn’t thought of anything to say, and she most certainly doesn’t offer her nose in greeting. And so she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “ Never expected to see you, again, boy-king. “