Zharko’s teeth gritted hard as he pulled himself out of the cold water. This was not nearly as bad as his first swim to the islands, still the chill that bit at his skin was not his favorite thing in the world. The moment he could, he shook out his body to the best of his ability. Thick locks still remained dripping, and his steely body darkened further by the salt water. He snorted in his distaste but otherwise had been quiet on their trip to the island.

Trusting Cinnamon, the boy took this time to look around this new place. It was very different than Crossing, and indeed colder. The trees looked hardy, and uninviting. Patches of snow still existed in the early spring, though in most places there were just large puddles and temporary streams of snow melt. Hardier plants had begun to bud, and even attempted to bloom. To Zharko, it spoke of resiliency in this land. His ears flicked to it curiously, and he considered the meaning, nostrils flaring briefly in his contemplation. Shaking off the thoughts with a couple more drops of water, he returned his attention to what really brought him and his red companion here. Liland, and the Bay itself. The colt had no concept or scent to work off, but many traces of other horses were stale and unnerving. Even as another stallion approached them, the words both he and Cinnamon spoke brought little comfort to him, and less hope that his search would be successful in this place. His ears twisted between the two adults, following the conversation and knowing these sorts of interactions could be tense to say the least. From his understanding, or at least his assumptions, Liland had not been one to step aside lightly or give up what he thought was his. It made little difference to the boy, who had no interest in ruling a territory, and had not yet even considered trying to find a home. Instead, he glanced at Cinnamon, wondering if the man would be as willing to stay in this place under new leadership.

He left out the softest of breathes, held his head a little higher, and stood by Cinnamon’s side a little taller. If this was where Cinnamon wanted to stay, Zharko would fight for him in any way that was needed to accomplish that. He knew he could try to find another way to find his brother. He could take being chased out of another herd and away from a home he never had. Cinnamon had much more to gain, and therefore much more to lose.

Zharko. Was all he gave in the way of a name.