She had grown alone. As her young companion had suddenly disappeared that day to heed the bellowing call of some distant creature, Liat had become a woman all on her lonesome. Still finishing her first year of life, she already started to look like her mother. She began to grow thing and lovely, her dark mane and tail sweeping away from her body, and every day she turned her eyes to the sea, looking for the appearance of the familiar perlino that she had known so well.

Liat thinks that Volpe has died, and perhaps it was for the best that she forget, but she knows better than to pretend her mother is gone. She can feel the woman's presence, as if she is closer than she can possibly comprehend.

She had taken to sleeping on her own, away from the lumbering, towering figures of the other women and their children. Her voice had grown weary and tired, and she sounded like a whisper on the wind. Though often silent by choice, she had taken to singing herself to sleep, and sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she let her airy breath leave her lips in the form of a soft tune, she could hear the chittering of woodland creatures and the gentle coo of owls in the trees. This place was beautiful, and she began to think of it as her own flesh and blood. Like the trees were her mother and the great stormy sea was her father- even though her own father had retreated away into some place with the strange, and oddly familiar, pale man.

Today, she heeds the familiar call of her father, a sound that she had perhaps only heard once, in passing. Liat knew almost nothing of the man, except that he was the creature that her mother had entrusted her life to, and that she must trust him if her mother did. Moving through the trees, she found the roan and his pale counterpart, but instead of greeting her father as she wanted to- by pressing her small, dark nose into his shoulder, she stops to stare at the palomino, her eyes burning into his face for some time before she mentally asserts that she must know him, she must! Standing in their presence for some time, she turns back to Solgar before inching forwards.

Their meetings had been brief, and even then, the man's voice is not familiar to his daughter, but she still craves the attention of a parent so she goes to him. Pushing out her nose, she brushes it against his shoulder before turning her head away, peering at his companion around his neck.