sephiroth
Sephiroth had sequestered himself within the Thicket for some time. His chest had swelled with pride to see his children, and he finally knew what family meant in that moment. His hatred, though it wasn't really hatred was it, for his father came and went. Some days he looked upon his son and knew how much he loved him, but other days he was more realistic in terms of what Solomon had gone through. Mostly, Sephiroth tried not to think about him. Penelope and Eos' disappearances had hurt him, but it was the disappearance of Vivaldi and Isolde that hurt him the most. His beautiful smiling daughters who he knew that he would burn the world for. Gone. The Thicket hadn't been entirely empty then, Masamune was at his side. But when he turned 2 and cast his sights for the mainland, Sephiroth could do nothing but watch as his son disappeared into the distance. Jormungandr had absconded the Thicket one day, leaving behind his mare and children, without so much as a word. The cowardice had disgusted Sephiroth and he could only hope he never came across his once-friend again. Though Sephiroth did not mind Vvanderfell's company, she had been Jormungandr's mare, and while he offered his home to her it was more duty than anything.
He pulled himself up onto the shores of the mainland, letting the salt water run down his scarred sides. He did not have too many scars to speak of, but the petty squabbles and practice spars had added up. The deep scars from his bout with Parvati had almost vanished in the pale of his white patches. Part of him had hoped he would smell Masamune or his daughters but the scents are unfamiliar and potent. His nostrils quiver out a snort and he snaps his tail against his sea-soaked haunches.
He presses deeper into the Commons, weaving his way through horse after horse. After being in the Thicket for so long, the oversaturation of smells and hormones was overwhelming and he pressed on. His ears pressed against the thick curl of his nape as he stalked deeper. While Sephiroth had grown and matured since his last time on the Mainland, the sour face that was so comfortable to him had a way of returning. When he finally gets far away enough from the prong of horses he takes a deep breath, his body finally relaxing.
It's only when he notices a mare ambling by that he lifts his head. He is no stranger to injury and he notices the small hitch in her step almost immediately. She does not appear to be in pain, at least not actively bleeding, but he offers a whicker anyway.
"Are you alright?" he calls out, his brow raised and head cocked. Part of him wants to claim her and get off this godforsaken island and back to the safety of his overgrown forest, but another part of him feels genuine concern. It was Masamune's kindness and endless curiosity that had brought out his gentler side, and he would be thankful to his son until the end of his days.