He is still quite taken aback by this world of white and cold and snow. But it feels much more bearable with Sariel, the little Queen, at his side. Her nose is pressed into his shoulder and the soft feathering of her mane tickles his chin- he is at peace. This is as it was always meant to be; he cannot remember a time without the filly at his side and there is a sense of longing to rise and shield her from the unnatural world into which they were thrust. He knows no words in which describe the sensation, but only that it thrums endlessly through his veins. He does not yet care for those he will one day call “mother” and “father”, but only that the other half of his entire being is now alongside him.

When he opens his eyes to the new universe with no name or words in which to refer to it by, he finds that he and the Queen are not alone. But this is not the one he had desired only moments ago, this is someone entirely different. A jester maybe? Certainly not a Knight. The little King watches as he pushes that ugly face toward his Queen and before he can stop himself, an infuriated shriek trembles from his thin, infant lips. With their mother pushing to encourage Sariel to rise, the little King begins to throw his legs about, hoping to mimic the movement. He wants to stand and face the intruder who thinks it wise to interfere with his sister and the half of his heart that is too weak to defend herself.

Again the king squeals and something in the force of such a sound pushes him to rise, albeit slowly, to the tiny hooves that would soon grace the soils of the Edge. One day he would run and play and fight and lead, even if that day was not today. He would learn and advise, protect and make mistakes, love and hate, lie and tell the truth… Everything was just at his feet, even if Uriel didn’t know that quite yet. But one day, yes, one day he would.

When at last the colt is steadied upon stiff and lanky legs, he turns again to the intruder with eyes made of the sky. For a long time he simply stares, even if he must do so around the massive shape of his father. If there were words in which he could speak, he would speak them… he would warn this other away from his Queen and make sure he never returned. With a snort, Uriel turns away from both father and stranger in order to seek out his twin. It is a struggle of sorts, as if walking upon stilts, before he finally reaches her side in order to run his weak muzzle along her shoulder. There is a definite limp in his stride and he fights the smaller, front leg for control and the ability to stay upright, but the pain is something he cannot ignore.

Instead of lingering by his sister’s side, he wanders closer to the figure of his mother in hopes of steadying himself against her warm side. He knows he must stay erect, but his legs are weak and his joints so sore… He hates to admit this weakness, but there is nothing else the little King can do.