he who fears losing has already lost - " />
The Lost Islands
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he who fears losing has already lost

"The man who fears losing has already lost."
-George R. R. Martin

"Yoren," he repeats in a low, thoughtful voice, his tongue rolling faintly over the 'R'. It is a strong and masculine name, like his own. He approves.

Watching as the mare retreats to give father and son space, Solgar wonders briefly where she had got the inspiration for such a name, but his train of thought is cut short when he feels the soft yet invasive poking and prodding of his son's tiny muzzle in various places on his body. Craning his head around with bemusement and uncertainty tightening his features, the stallion watches from the corner of his eye as the red colt stretches his skinny neck upwards in order to fiddle with his ash-colored mane.

Solgar doesn't even care; his son can do whatever the hell he likes.

His son.

His dark eyes trace the delicate white hairs that swirl across Yoren's barrel. They are few for now, but Solgar knows that they will turn the boy's sides and belly almost white when his baby fur is shed, as his own had so long ago. He lips at them without thought, then lifts his head to gaze around his home. Hmm.

"Can you say my name, boy? Solgar. Sol-gar." He steps around, still limping faintly and trembling from adrenaline, to face the boy head-on in a bid to help him pay attention. 'Pa' or 'Daddy' is still too strange and foreign to his mind, and not something he wants to encourage someone to call him just yet.

S O L G A R
11; mustang; blue roan; 15'3hh; inlet; shiva


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