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It was warm. It was content. It was happy.

Yet all good things, It would soon learn, came to an end.

One moment It was happy, and next, It was not.

Warmth was replaced with a biting, terrible, cold. The chill clung to It, followed by a terrible, retinal-burning brightness, and voices, oh, the voices! The sounds! All of it was new, obnoxiously new, and terrifying, and uncalled for, and... And...

And suddenly It was a 'he', and 'he' had a name.

Tristan.

Tristan? What was a Tristan?

For a long moment he laid there like a dead thing, shivering and wet and pathetic looking, but finally he moved, struggling to straighten his awkward limbs and return to the warmth that he had been so rudely shoved out of. Blurred turquoise eyes blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the two massive frames that loomed over him, one a golden maiden, and the other a dark knight. Long, lanky sooty-colored legs stretched outwards from a tiny body, tufts of mane sticking up in every which direction and he regarded his parents with wide, curious eyes. Or, well, one curious eye, for the left itched and ached and he couldn't truly see very well out of it.

The dark knight was a massive creature; large and looming, but there was no sense of fear or uncertainty when Tristan looked at him. He was a familiar presence, and warm... The golden maiden was just as familiar, and her voice stirred something in his brief folder of memories.

Mamma. Pappa. These were his parents. These figures would love him, protect him, and cherish him. They would teach him of the world, show him many things...

The golden maiden dipped her face down beside him, nudging him as though urging him to move, and the tiny prince did just that. He shifted, balking with a strangled sound that sounded awfully fierce to him, before stretching one tiny hoof outwards, then another. With his front two legs splayed widely apart and his hind limbs still folded inwards, Tristan struggled to stand, his legs quivering to support his meager weight before he slipped in the snow and toppled over, landing with a 'ploof!' in an explosion of white snow.

It rained down, landing on the foal's small head, and he snorted in a sneeze. This standing thing? Yeah, it was hard. He better get something good for all of this hard work...

Tristan steeled himself, and with an indignant squeal, he once more tried to get upright. It took another try, followed by another, followed by a few additional spills, but soon the newborn prince was standing on his own, tail flicking to and fro.

Well. Look at that? He was pretty good at this standing thing after all.