It is not for young ones to understand why they are motherless and alone. Stígr, the wanderer from far away seas, may never remember these first blurry moments, but Valka will. She will remember the choice she makes, and though it may consign him to an early death, he will not be forgotten - not yet.

He is vaguely aware of the cautious nose that searches his wet hide. He feels the emptiness as the mare turns to leave, and though he has known nothing but cold and wet and emptiness up until this point, he yearns for her to come back. He calls, high pitched and barely audible above the sound of the waves, but heart rending nonetheless.

He is small, soaked, and vulnerable, but instinct guides him and he attempts to stand - to follow. Spindly, knobby legs do little to steady him and he tumbles forward, his front legs stretched completely beneath him and his bum in the air. He gives a dejected hmph as his rear end joins the rest of him on the ground.

He stays there for a few moments. With every blink the bleariness fades and the Yakut mare comes more into focus. His simple will to survive urges him to stand, to follow, to live. With a flick of a fuzzy ear he comes to his feet, splay legged and wobbly. He calls again, attempting a couple jerky steps towards her while champing his gums.