He knew what a mother was. He'd heard the others his age addressing the big horses by mother, and some by father. He supposed that's what Winterfell was to him. Or at least, what she was meant to be. His growing tail snaps against his haunches and his ears snap back against the thick curl of his neck. His nose wrinkles and for the first time, Kratos looks genuinely agitated. "My mother didn't tell me anything like that," his anger dissipates, and there is a sadness in his blue gaze. He doesn't miss her. He misses what she was meant to be. He misses that first moment of warmth when she delicately cleaned him, moments before she'd grabbed him by the neck and all but threw him across the grass.
"She said my name and that was it." He looks away, hopeful for a subject change and is grateful for one even if it meant she seemed irritated by him again. He grunts in response, still hung up on the thought of Winterfell, as Vex admonishes him for lying. He turns away, trudging back to the water's edge but keeping an ear pointed at her.
"The falls," he repeats, staring down at the few brave fishes that had returned now that the waters had mostly stilled. "Oh, I just thought you must be awfully lucky if you got to live a place like this." While Vex's walls have gone up, Kratos' doors have begun to shut. Each bit of self doubt, each bit of sadness, and hurt, and pain is slamming a door in the face of his heart.
"Have you ever seen a wolf?" He asks as if he'd seen one up close, but in reality he had seen them only from a distance and seen their tracks. Even a foal as big as he was nothing but a meal to them. "I think I like these better," he says, lowering his muzzle to the water to watch the dispersing ripple.