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The youth felt oh so grand, setting foot in another new place, all on his own. He was making decisions, oh heavens he was vindicated! He was the master of his own life, and he could do as he pleased! Though, the joy of that really had worn off more quickly than he'd expected it to. Hoofing it on his own was rough, and he didn't know what he wanted out of life, except perhaps a few months of easier living. Not easy, no, he wanted to be in the thick of the fight! It would just be nice to know he could sleep without the wolves, literal and metaphorical, creeping up on him unawares. It was so hard to play both lookout and lead, life was too complicated for that. Plus, shamefaced as he'd be to admit it in public, he'd lost too many squabbles recently to feel secure on his own. He didn't know enough to face down the stallions twice his age that blocked his path. They were larger, more heavily muscled, and more experienced. And they laughed at him of all things, and his hurt pride ached more than the bruises they left on his body.
Maybe it was silly to expect that he'd be better, but wasn't he? Didn't he have all the right elements to be the best, even if he was the rough and tumble immature form of the best? Why did no one else see the potential in his lanky frame, tall enough to be in the advantage on all counts, and light on his feet? Why was his chestnut speckled grandeur looked over in favor of stockier or rangier colts, with less promise and calmer heads? Wasn't his drive desirable? Didn't his tricks work? Was he any more than just a dreamer? As if sighing at his frayed thoughts, a bit of snow slipped off an above branch to land wet and cold on his back. He shook it off and pinned his ears, displeased with nature. New in a place, and he couldn't even make a first impression without having something silly and beyond his control happen. How was he supposed to make himself look good if he couldn't keep the trees from sharing their burdens with his back. He wasn't Atlas for the gods sakes, so couldn't they give it a rest. He wanted to be great and powerful certainly, but he wasn't here to hold the world up. He wanted to be a hero of great battles, not known for knitting sky and ground together so that all others could attempt to live in harmony. That wasn't the world he wanted, no.
He twitched the speckled wings on his back, wondering if he had enough space between the trees to stretch them out. It would be nice to get them spread and shake some of the cold out of his bones. Except, he wasn't sure what was waiting for him here, and he didn't want to get too settled. He wasn't wary exactly, but he wasn't going to assume that he was going to be greeted with kindness. It would be just the right start to a legendary name to whollop some uncanny foe in front of a fine herd leader, so he might be taken in and made commander of a force that was known throughout the land for their excellent fighting skills. The dreams of a colt, he told himself. You're being silly. You'll consider your offers and go where the training is best, so you can work on climbing the ranks. You know how these things work. Perhaps you would be better off as a renegade, if you could find a fellow to teach you. Then again, perhaps you're being silly. If you keep your snout in the clouds like this, eventually your feet will slip off the ground and you'll lose track of reality entirely. Where will you be then, alone and in the dark, with no one to support you when the tide comes crashing in? No, not you. You're destined for better, so act like it! He shook his overactive brain away, and settled in to surveying his lightly frosted surroundings. It seemed, for the moment, the trees bore most of the icy burden, and so the few feet above the ground seemed warmer than the air above. He snorted at the weather. This, at least, of his new home, would be a bane and a comfort. Train harder, get used to it, and long for the warm winter months of home before the brutally hot and humid summer. Eventually, he'd adapt. He was sure he would.
"blah blah blah."
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