He was no stranger to it, having spent his formative years in the snow and ice of the Inlet. He didn’t necessarily dislike winter, per se, but he’d come to the Crossing in autumn, and had spent most of the cold months there. He wanted to see more seasons than that. He wanted to see lush greenery, smell the perfume of fields of flowers and clover, feel a warm breeze on his face. The stallion craved that which he’d never had, and one day, when the air was mild and the water calm, he made his way to the beach and started to swim.

He’d spotted the island from the southern tip of the Crossing, and as his form cut through the sea the water warmed and changed from brackish grey to bright cerulean. When he reached land, the sand beneath his hooves was pale yellow-white and fine and it warmed him where he touched it. The breeze pushed up against him, balmy and sweet, and the treeline some ways away was lush and sprawling and tangled with the coast like green and gold interlocking fingers. He smiled, basking in the sheer life of it all, before meandering along the shoreline.

The fact that he might not be alone never really occurred to him. He should have remembered that stallions claimed pieces of the various islands for themselves, and might not be overjoyed with a rogue wandering around within their borders, but he was too busy enjoying the lack of anything cold and snowy to think about it. It was only when he heard the stranger’s voice that he jumped out of his reverie and realized his error. Larkspur straightened, trying to look sheepish and nonthreatening, expecting a tongue-lashing and a chase back to the sea.

What he got instead was a conversation about the weather.

“Oh -” he sputtered. “It’s, um, it’s winter, actually. Spring soon.” He nodded his creamy head, exposing the darker stripes on his neck beneath his mane. Stripes, oddly, that seemed to mimic the golden hue of the blanketed stallion before him. He cleared his throat, wondering if he should address the (In his mind, at least) elephant in the room concerning his blatant trespass. Something about the male drew him, something oddly soft and… familiar? Whatever it was, it also made him very nervous, and he found himself talking without really trying.

“Can’t tell in a place like this, huh? My grandmother told me about it once. Always made me want to see for myself.” His blue eyes flicked to the palomino’s, gauging his reaction. It was a roundabout excuse, a subtle appeasement for breaking the rules. Please don’t make me leave, he worried. He’d only just gotten there. How could he go back to the cold so soon?