Although he wasn't usually far from his mother's side, there were times when even he got that itch to explore or run regardless of what she was doing. Now was one of those times.

He left her to nap in the autumn sun, not tired or patient enough to doze alongside her. Though, even as he sprinted down the sand dunes, kicking up his heels if only to feel the spray of the sand as it flicked up against his fetlocks, he made sure he did not stray too far. He pulled up suddenly, his flanks heaving his breath came short and fast after the run. He glance over, reassuring himself she was still there in the distance, then turned suddenly, his head rolling along his neck and setting his baby-mohawk to wobble back and forth. He released a loud and impressive (not) snort suddenly, kicking out with a forelimb into the sand, awed by the affect he had on the world as the red grit sailed away. He carved his mark into the dune, a trench existing where one hadn't before, because of him.

Content and rested Iskra suddenly shied to the side and took off down the other side of the dry wave, pumping his wings this time, sparks trailing behind him like a comet, lightning and flame particles rolling off the underside of his primaries and drifting in a frantic flurry among his speed's wind before eventually dissolving entirely. He wasn't nearly strong enough to fly yet, but running as fast as he could with the breeze pressing along either side of his outstretched wings felt like it.

As he heaved himself up another hill, Iskra paused for his cursory glance towards Ampere's blue and black shape on the horizon. Confirming that she was still there (if he didn't check he was truthfully afraid she would just leave without him), he continued on at a steady walk, balancing along the thin crest of the rocky slope. As he walked he whistled a tune his mother sung in the moments when she seemed least sad, the times when she was most liable to engage with him and tell him things, like stories about the world or his dad. Those were good times, and feeling good now, the song came upon him without contest.

Behind him sand begin to lift and whirl around, even though no wind stirred.