Little defective colt takes in the words around them, learning new ones and realizing with displeasure that there are some he cannot understand. They speak of fools, and he wonders what the word means. He parts his lips to ask the question, but thinks better of it. What if asking the meaning would make him appear more ignorant before these two wise stallions? It was strange, but he wanted to impress them, or at very least the tower of ice that stood firmly before him.

Slowly he lowers his hindquarters and Manhattan slides off of his back with clear reluctance, and in seconds she is standing beneath him with her tail tucked and her eyes filled with anxiety. He moves back a foreleg to rub against her gently, to reassure her of the fact that the pair before them will not harm her. If they even try he will fight for her life; he has done it before and he will do it again. The bond between them is strong, the grip of their trust far from tenuous. He wonders with clear, innocent eyes if the two before him know what it is like to trust, to love. He wonders what emotions the ice king feels, or what the monster knows of love.

The trio, representing all different species and ages, puzzle him. He wishes to speak but knows not what to say- wishes to question but knows it will only embarrass him. Still, does he care? Manhattan would, he knows that were she a bit older, a bit wiser, she would be urging him against speaking, but for now she cowers in fear and hides in his shadow. Should he not make his own decisions, while he still can? His mothers influence is strong, his life controlled by so many other than himself. But for some reason, trapped in this cave with two strangers, two threats, he feels free. He cares not for their pointless squabbles of sharing and their eager displays of dominance. It is clear that the better stallion, he who is willing to put so much aside for the sake of knowledge and the power that accompanies it, is the leader here, and he is beginning to doubt that either of the two standing before him would even qualify as candidates.

"Have you ever known love?" He bursts out suddenly, changing the subject from whatever it was they were snipping about. "Do you know what love is? Do you know what is fair? Have you ever practiced it?" The questions burst forth from eager lips at a rapid pace, each delivered with the same, almost spooky monotone that would usually accompany apathy, but for him are signs of his first contact with freedom of decision. He becomes aware of the fact that he can say whatever he wants, and in this time he wills himself to do his best to learn whatever he can.

Beneath him, Manhattan begins to whimper.