The distant voices of wolves rising towards the distant peaks draw little reaction from the silver-painted beast. Raven-tipped ears flick back and then forward again, as though he is somehow able to discern the distance of their voices and interpret the meaning within. Fall is fast approaching the Inlet. Already, a fine layer of snow dusts the exposed grasses of the meadows and valleys, warning of a bitter winter to come. A winter that he has grown to love, despite having been raised in a more temperate climate. The jungles of Atlantis saw little snow and none that he can remember in his lifetime there. However there was something primal that the alabaster blanket and frigid atmosphere of Tinuvel awoke in him. Something that fought tooth and nail beneath his skin. Something that brought him closer to Rougaru.

Before he learned the news of his sire’s passing, the painted rogue had every intention of leaving the Inlet and its confused snow queen in his past. Parvati had come to him with confessions of love and appreciation but that had only been stained by the knowledge of the truth. Those years of defense and vigilance and devotion, even at the cost of his pretty little shadow ghost had been for nothing. The child she had religiously proclaimed as his own was not. It made him question everything. Were it not for the passing Nyimara, he would have gladly turned his back on the painful memories here in search of new adventures in unfamiliar lands. That is, until the words slipped from her dark, stained lips. ’You know he killed him right? Solomon. The old wolf is dead.’ Even now, the dry tone of her voice pains him. Anger had flashed in his golden eyes, blunt teeth ground together as his hooves stomped beneath him in frustration. He knew of the feud between the two old kings but never imagined that this world would be without the tormentor of nightmares. Rougaru was the perfect villain, for those who did not understand him. And he, the son of the wolf, had done nothing but sit idly on his haunches growing fat on summer grasses that the Inlet had to offer.

Dark ears rotate once more as the voices resound again, this time, closer. The tobiano stallion lifts his shaggy head from the icy shoots of yellowing grass to cast his feral gaze over the snow-covered mountainside. The wolves were still a long way off, farther still than a single day’s travel but it would not be long before they left the high forests of the mountains in favor of easier hunting below.

A sharp snort is exhaled his response to their chilling songs. No doubt Parvati had heard them by now and the doting over her current foal would come to an end as she searched him out. She always did when potential danger arose. He wanted to feel annoyed by that knowledge but he would be lying if he didn’t say it gave him a sense of pride. Her past with the beasts left her with an almost irrational fear (as far as he is concerned). A fear that he has never shared. The wolves were as much his dangerous brethren as his own mute brother seated comfortably in the bay. But that would make avoiding her all the much harder. He had not answered her question and did not trust himself even now to answer it honestly. Part of him said the only reason he remained was to spy on the Cove stallion but even that was no longer true, not now that Nyimara had taken over. It was a short-lived victory, one that he did not understand completely but then again, his half-sister worked in mysterious ways. Ways he did not dare to try and understand. Maybe it was a mare thing? That would explain Parvati’s own strange behaviors. That thought made him chuckle, a deep rumbling sound that reverberated deep within his wide chest.

Giving his thickly muscled neck a quick shake, the stallion returns to his aimless grazing, letting the crunch of his hooves over frozen ground and the distant lullaby lull him into a sense of peace in this foreboding time.