Ren leaves his mother dozing peacefully in the sun on her high clifftop to go on a solo adventure today. She wouldn’t try to stop him if she were awake; he’s a yearling, and practically an adult by now, easily able to take care of himself and her. He takes his time picking his way down the Ridge’s steep incline, pausing every now and then to smell a flower or admire a pretty bird. He’s unafraid, but he is cautious, as though he’s trying to prove to himself that he’s so grown-up as to have no need for silly foal antics.

After much patient exploring and very little trouble-making, Renvari makes it to the beach. He can see his father standing by the water, feathered hooves submerged, gazing with some complicated emotion across the glittering sea. Ren cocks his head to the side, falling still for a moment in the warm sand. He watches Tyr, trying to think of something clever and knowing to say when he approaches, but he can’t come up with anything. Truly, he has no idea what weighs so heavily on his father’s mind, and he thinks maybe it’s better not to try and pretend like he does.

Picking up a lazy trot, Ren covers the beach beneath long-legged strides. He’s still lanky, and clumsy at times, but the snow-flecked colt has mostly grown into his limbs and has even begun to fill out some muscle. He comes up to Tyr’s side, his own hooves slapping against the wet sand as he comes to a halt.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice so innocently curious that it almost makes up for the boldness of the question. “You look sad.”