Albrecht

The old stallion cocks his head, staring across the wide canal of water separating the beach he stands on from an enormous island he can only assume is the true Dragons Throat. Glancing in either direction, he wonders what good a key would do them without a lock to put it in, then reconsiders that perhaps the key is simply a token and it’s really the magic imbued in it that allows passage, thinking that a more likely scenario in this world of magic and mystery. The boy shrugs, unconcerned, and the stallion wonders just how often he finds himself stranded on this beach without a parent or other guardian. He frowns, silently criticizing Sabia for her negligence, but before his disapproval can voice itself the boy turns, posing a new question; Does he live in the forest?

“No.” The black smiles tiredly, still winded from their gallop and again struck by the colts easy joy as he proclaims his soldiers the very best, brooking no argument in his obvious admiration. “I’m from the north. Wayyy north where the snow never melts on the mountain tops.” He inhales to elaborate further, but a jumble of too many words battling for purchase on his tongue makes him falter, unable to prioritize ideas among the chaos. He wonders – for the hundredth or thousandth time – why he continues to live in a land that continually distresses him with its frigid climate. He feels the need to admit his penchant for wandering, for being anywhere but the north because of his distaste for the cold, and even stronger than the others, though tightly restrained by indecision, is the urge to tell the boy that he can always find him there, should he ever need to - or want to.

Before his rivaling thoughts can settle a new voice pierces the air, high and screeching, immediately followed by an annoyed shout overhead. The old black shifts closer to his son, perhaps to shield him, or more likely, to use him and his association with this place as a shield for himself, for the mare that lands nearby and questions him is recognizable from her blue lightning markings and fierce gaze, a name with a reputation, Ampere.

He starts to nod, acknowledging the mares renown even without knowing her current position in the herd or whether she's still in the herd at all, though he doesn't know why she would challenge him otherwise, when a second body comes streaking toward the group, tripping and tumbling between them like a poorly spun bowling ball. The fallen star scrambles to his feet, clearly recognizing Saoirse even among the commotion and spray of loose sand settling in his wake, the quick smile across his face a mirrored image of the younger colt.

"Hello." His dampened skin twitches, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge the grains of sand adhered to him by sweat and salt water. "We're looking for his mother - Sabia?" It starts as an explanation, but quickly drifts to something between a question and an accusation. Where is she?



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Saoirse