The lines that drew up the supposed border of his birth home, the Badlands, could not contain him for very long. The red colt, now a little past his first spring, found his independence and curiosity drove him further and further from his family every day. He’d do his best to make it back to them by nightfall, but lately he’d allowed his time away to stretch by a couple days at a time. His mother wasn’t entirely a “helicopter parent” and didn’t demand him stay within sight.
Even if she did, she’d likely know there wasn’t anyone - mother, father, or otherwise - who could tell Realgar what to do if he’d made up his mind elsewise.
So, he was northwest of the Badlands, plenty into the interior of the Dunes, when the sandstorm began to pick up. It quickly turned worse than he’d ever experienced, driving him to seek the nearest form of shelter. He found it in the way a few dunes dipped down and made a small valley just shallow enough for him to miss the worst of the blowing sands. Little bits still pelted at him and he hunched down into himself, closing his eyes and turning his ears back as he let it roar overhead.
Then, when the worst of it had passed - he ached from how long he’d had to stay hidden and sheltered - he found a newly curious idea creeping into his mind. Was his father on decent terms with the Dunes leader? Did Realgar care either way?
Perhaps there was a little filly his age, or even a little older, that he could lead away from the Dunes and to the Badlands, where he was sure the canyons had helped buffer the sands. They could revisit the idea of her returning home after he’d led her deep into his father’s home, showed them food and water that wasn’t layered in thick sand.
A little grin curved over his lips as he pushed himself up the dunes, blowing hard with exertion as the shifting, soft sands fell out under him. He dug his hooves firmly in, managing to climb up the dune and out of the valley he’d taken shelter in. His coat was patched dark red with sweat and sand, he shook himself but it only offered little relief. His gaze sought out across the wake of the sandstorm, looking for any poor little damsel who’d been stranded from the herd and needed "saving."
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