It'd been nearly a whole season since Baldr had returned to the Islands. It was a place he thought he'd never see again. When he'd plunged himself into the frigid waters at Tinuvel's shore those years ago there'd been no thought of returning, no a shadow of a doubt in the dappled stallion's mind that he would never see the Islands again. Unless it was with his mother at his side.

But here he stood on the very same beach. Still motherless, but not for lack of effort. He'd tried so hard to reach the Norðurland, where he thought she might have gone in search of her former mate or other children. Ultimately he had been unsuccessful in his endeavor. The distant land of his half-relatives evaded him like a specter that slipped away each time he got too close. In the end he'd given up and settled elsewhere, his pilgrimage thwarted by cruel seas and the fickle hand of fate. For years he'd forced himself to live under a false sense of contentment. To pretend that he was happy with the way his life had turned out, or that he had made peace with it at least.

But the reality of his situation weighed him down, sitting heavy on his shoulders and in his mind. Freya had abandoned him. She had sent him to the Lagoon like chattel and disappeared, and he would never know why. Swift on the heels of this revelation was a sense of understanding: his quest to find the Norðurland had been futile. Even if he'd found his way there they would provide no answers. And his mother ― well, he wasn't exactly confident that she was still walking this mortal plane.

So he figured, in a way, he had to be content with his life, because nothing he ever did would change what had happened. Knowing his dam's reasons for leaving wouldn't undo her actions. But damn if it didn't hurt to think about still.

To distract himself, Baldr often turned his attention to the one true currency of the Islands: gossip. Rumors erroneous and sincere were quick to make their way around the Islands, spreading like wildfire among kinds and commoners alike. The latest whisper on the wind was that the Inlet had a new leader. An old king come to reclaim his ancestral home. The blue-eyed stallion had heard that the king bested an old family rival in battle for it, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. After all, he'd been living as a vagabond in the Crossing since summer and hadn't seen or heard of any noteworthy fights. The Peak and Lagoon had been eerily quiet as well, and Baldr was growing concerned that one (or both) were planning something.

Frankly, he'd be more concerned about whatever plots the Lagoon boys might be brewing in that fetid swamp of theirs. Having lived among them for a time in search of his father, Baldr was keenly aware that - more often than not - their plans only led to one outcome: trouble and suffering. For everyone.

But this new talk of the Inlet king was what really caught his attention, moreso than the uncharacteristic quiet of the Lagoon. Could it be that his half-brother had come back to the Islands as well and laid claim to the home Freya had once called her own? Was his family there, within his reach? Baldr had never known anyone from his mother's life as the Inlet queen, and there was an undeniable eagerness inside him to get to know more about his distant family.

Without hesitation he trekked through the sea, trying to stave off the the deep shiver that set in his bones as he reached Tinuvel's shore. Something stops him from going further, though, the dappled stallion pausing where sand met grass. There he stood and waited for the Inlet King to appear, heart beating an anxious rhythm against his chest the entire time.