sephiroth
It was not often that Sephiroth left the confines of the Thicket. He had become laser focused on protecting the tiny family he had gathered that he failed to consider that there were others that might need such aid. He was suspicious of strangers, even more than he once had been, an effect of the Thicket and losing it once already. He had entrusted the herd to Jormungandr and Masamune during his short absence, and he knew his second would teach his son well. Masamune had wanted to join him, but the yearling colt had still not yet left the Thicket and he was not sure winter was the best time to be leaping into the ocean for the first time. Sephiroth was Tinuvel born and bred, the cold was nothing for him. Masamune had his blood but he had never weathered the year-long chill of Tinuvel.
The swim was relatively quiet and Sephiroth found it to be easier than his last trip, which he was thankful for. By the time he reached the shore his entire body was soaked and salt-kissed. The water clung to his thick, slightly knotted, mane and glued it to the outline of his neck muscles. The smell of the Thicket was still present, etched into the very essence of his being, but it was faint, almost entirely drowned out by the abundance of the sea's touch.
Sephiroth walks across the common, the thin layer of snow crunching beneath is feet. It's...comforting in a way he had forgotten. He takes a moment to stop and close his eyes, a thin layer of snow building up across his topline. For a moment, from a distance, he might have looked so much like his father. From the pale of his coat to the green of his eye, here in the snow, he was very much his father's son. Even if he very much did not care to admit it.
His walk continues, and Sephiroth enjoys the relative quiet and peace. The early mornings were his favorite, though not always so peaceful in the Thicket due to Masamune. The colt had begun doing his own patrol checks, but if was still often they met up or crossed paths along the way.
And it would seem Masamune would not be the only one he crossed paths with on his morning walk. A mare came into view, grass bloomed around her from her warmth. She seemed sad and Sephiroth halted a few paces away, just in time to hear her whispers. He furrowed his brow and lowered his head, concern in his ever-green eyes.
"Are you well?" It was unusual to see anyone laying in the snow, except on Tinuvel, he thought. And he saw pain on her face, in the lines on her face, and he remembered those same lines on his own not so long ago.