“Don’t get so cocky son, just because you’re a leader now doesn’t mean you’re stronger than your old man.” Tarrant chuckled, ears pointed toward his son who stood across and slightly to the left of him.

Wonka flicked the silver threads of his tail, matched his father’s grin and turned his ears back, darting forward and snaking his head to bite at Tarrant’s flesh. Tarrant lifted up in a poor excuse of a rear, chuckling as he turned his neck and reached out, lying a pinching nip on his son’s wither. A snort left Wonka’s nostrils indignantly as he danced back, ears flattened and movements sending his winter-white hair whipping over his poll. He kept himself close to his play “opponent”, giving his own rear and attempting to give his old man payback for what had just occurred. Tarrant avoided his young son easily enough, stepping away to relieve himself of supporting his son’s weight and turning his hindquarters toward the boy.

Wonka jerked his head up and turned, pulling his legs to give himself a quick enough retreat that he would be out of Tarrant’s bucking range. The two played against the cold Tinuvel air, laughing, grunting and jogging in a circular area they’d deemed was where they’d playfully spar. It was important that Wonka learn to hone the basics of his instincts now that he’d claimed a territory and Tarrant had seen his fair share of battles. What wild stallion past ten years of age had not?

A wild twist turned Tarrant’s lips and he jerked his head, lifting in a bit of a rear and charging past his sun, rumbling a whinny and taunting the boy to follow him. Their little area had grown boring; their little fights of dodging one another’s nips and kicks had become droll. Tarrant wanted to run! He stretched his white covered legs out, palomino skin barely catching its gleam beneath the gray clouds that blanketed the sky.

Wonka wasn’t going to simply let his father take off like that! With a grin he turned on his haunches as well, pushing weight into the ground before striding forward and quickly gaining ground. His ears peeled back against his skull as he lowered it, legs picking up and muscles stretching with every gait. The cold earth of the Inlet was dug up beneath his hooves, particularly as it became sand rather than dirt, pelting against his underbelly and back limbs. He was just nearly at his father’s haunches when he heard a drifting whinny coming just up the beach.

Wonka’s distraction caused him to pull up, head lifting and ears perking forward as he looked for what had caused it. Was it Winter? Further investigation had him realizing that it wasn’t, and also that he didn’t recognize the figure at this distance. Wonka whinnied back to her, turning away from the path his father had been on and heading toward her at an amiable trot instead. His skin was hot from the “work-out” he’d just been having, muscles flickering with energy beneath his coat. As he pulled closer he reached out, huffing a breath of air her way and noting the dampness of her body. The air was chilly enough on Tinuvel without being wet as well. “Hey, welcome to the Inlet, I’m - OOF!”

Right before Wonka could manage to say his title or name, Tarrant came in beside him, butting Wonka’s flank with the side of his head. He straightened up with a grin and then noticed their company and that it was someone he didn’t know. He could have apologized or looked embarrassed, but instead he chuckled and shifted his weight, settling in to the spot he’d just jogged into. “Hello! I’m Tarrant, I see you’ve met my son, Wonka. He’s the lead here, I’m just the…” he searched for the right word he wanted to use, the one that didn’t give him the responsibility of needing to have a herd, “the…uhm…moral support.”

Wonka snorted, dancing back beside his father to smile at the dark coated mare. “As I was saying, welcome to the Inlet.”