Tinuvel was a whisper on the wind in the Dunes. His father, Helios, had never strayed so far north during the tumult of his reign while Caesarion had been alive. He didn't even know if his sire had even left Sale; he'd certainly never spoken of it. All he knew was that it was cold there, like the deep desert at night only harsher, and that the land was covered with white. All else was mystery. The other islands had always been a curiosity for the young chestnut, and, like that, Corvair had unintentionally stoked the flame of his yearning. His expression showed how genuinely pleased the male was with her questions, her answers.
The chestnut nodded enthusiastically. "It's definitely hot there, but we often linger in the oases and along the coast where the sea winds can reach us." His blue eyes brighten as the words begun to tumble from his mouth. A vision of the coastline is fresh in the chestnut's mind, and the ghost of a taste from the northern oasis' pool was cool in his throat. Caesarion refocuses on the beautiful, young mare, his eyes lingering on the light fringes of her hair before making eye contact again. "What's Tinuvel like? Is that where you're from? I don't really know much about the islands north of here."
Caesarion
the chestnut splash son of Helios & Belladonna
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