Nahawi was already proving to be an annoying new kid on the block. Insisting it was for his “safety”, he’d escorted the crippled stallion into the water as if the swim was going to be easy. Fritjof managed of course, despite how his heart felt as if it was going to hammer through his chest and into the water he pushed against. Fear made the roan temperamental, feeling his youthful temper try to flare that he hadn’t quite felt in some time. It was about the same sort of reaction to a fly that continued to land on his back, always out of reach, and always biting. It was annoying how many times Nahawi had tried to move him. Only now he’d been successful.


Fritjof didn’t see the point. He was more than capable of defending himself.


As he pulled himself up onto the pebbled shore of Luthien, Fritjof peered at the thick foliage ahead. After spending so much time with his son Olavi in the thick foliage of the jungle, it was almost a relief he wouldn’t be stuck in the open grasslands of the Prairie.


With a snap of his thick tail, Fritjof left the expanse of the beach and slipped into the clutches of shadow and green. His intent to hide out here long enough that everyone forgot about him, including Nahawi that hopefully stayed on the beach, and then return to his rightful home. The Shore would always have his heart, even if he was forced to be somewhere else yet again.