The seasons had proven far more interested than Zharko could really comment on. Since he had brought Claymore back to Tinuvel he had been welcomed to the Inlet. It seemed like before the boy could even utter an answer, the King of the Inlet had been dethroned. Zharko watched from afar as the stallion and his daughter were forced from their home, a soft seething in his heart.

In the Bay he watched this territory too switch hands. He had no ill will against the mare who now claimed rights over the Bay, he merely had no interest when something else had tugged at him. He watched as Cinnamon seemed to flourish in this land, even as leadership changed. Zharko had questioned why the loyal stallion had not been given a rank and recognition of his own when he had stayed to care for the land.

Ears flicked back as he thought about this. Dark eyes gazed over the Inlet. He had been offered a home here, just like he had been offered a home in the Bay. A soft exhale blew from his nose. A home. Not only could he have one, but he had the pick of them, though one was outside of his grasp. His ears flicked back and he shifted to look over the land to the crashing waters on the stone beaches. His need to find his brother still burned in him, though after a year the heat was starting to ebb. How he could live securely in a home while the fate of his brother was still unknown was a question he asked himself every day. His teeth clicked against themselves as he turned away to make his way down the trail.

Time had passed and the scent of the reigning king had begun to fade. Hungry eyes watched as the herds remained defenseless and he stood guard over what he could with what he had. Zharko was not impressive in stature by any means. The passing of his youth did not lend much to filling out his body. Small for his breed and uncharacteristically lean, it would have been a hard challenge to consider him any sort of threat, or really a strong ally. Still, as the seasons shifted and faded, the boy turned into a young man and he waited.

It was not until the last stale scents of Bjorn had faded from the rocks that Zharko dared step foot in the Inlet again. To his surprise he was hit with the presence of Warsaw. He who had offered him a place had returned. Zharko glanced back at the Bay, ache lingering in his heart at the thought of leaving Cinnamon, but perhaps it would be best - though deeply he did not believe so. Shaking his head of his doubts he moved forward in search of the re-risen king. He had been welcomed once, and hoped he would have been welcomed again. He hoped he might see Claymore again.

Warsaw? He greeted the stallion once he found him. Does your offer to be by your side still stand? The young man stood with his head high, as if presenting what he could to the king for examination and judgement. He had hoped that even here, there was something more than brute strength that would be seen in the eyes of a ruler.