Whether by instinct or scent, Fritjof knew the moment he had crossed the Shore’s invisible line. Though the territory did not change much at first, the vegetation began to grow thicker, and strange scents began to fill his pink nares. He barely even conjured the thought of leaving the shoreline, to explore the shaded alluring greenery when a nicker caught his attention. Halting in his tracks, he turned his head to see the painted mare making her way to him. She was so heavy with foal; he honestly didn’t know how she was even moving. At least she greeted him friendly enough, rather than the snapping of teeth most might have shown a strange colt from outside of their own herd.


Before Fritjof could properly introduce himself, another comes barging into the meeting. His blue eyes watch as the stallion places himself protectively in front of the pregnant mare and can’t help but scoff at the action. What harm could he have done her? At his age, and with his crooked leg, there was not power in the physical way he could ever harm Monster or the cargo she carried. And at the mention of boy he narrowed his eyes, irritated at the further insult.


“Indeed, I am Xiomara’s son, Fritjof.” He introduced, giving a small dip of his head to the pair. It was not the typical greeting of a yearling. But the grullo roan had never been normal. There was a precise way his mind had worked since birth, a cunning he couldn’t quite shake himself of. If only he had born whole, and not broken, what a monster he could have truly been. Instead, he is only left with the power of his mind. “As heir of the Shore, I thought it best to finally introduce myself to my neighbors.” The young stallion explained. Though the Warrior Queen no longer reined over the Shore, Fritjof refused to see it differently than the title he had been born with. Though he was too young now, he would not be that way forever.