By the time I had finished my recent words, the chill in my lungs began to subside. I had forgotten how chilly it felt when the lack of sun made everything cooler than usual. Different; compared to the outside world where imprisonment felt more like an adjective than sanctuary. However, it was more of a safety than it was misery, but what did I know? A chance to rest my body upon the lush grass was not in my favor. I stirred in the water as the friction built itself back up again against the weight of my animated legs. My legs remained animated, but I was constantly swaying against the oxygen and the water. I was careful not to shift my weight too heavily when I leaned against one side so that I wouldn't fall and my legs would sprawl and thrash above the surface. That's how I envisioned would happen, and I rather not place an awful impression on Elsa!

Elsa mentioned her interval here, and her favorite weather - delaying a direct answer - although I did not truly mind at the moment. I hardly craved one when I felt so at ease with myself, and there was no hint of issues relayed between us. My eyes looked upon her with wide interest upon the sounds of her fairly long time in Helovia. I gawked at her with sheer interest, "Two seasons?" My head tilted with an over-exaggerated interest upon my face. Frostfall never proved my favorite when I highly preferred the sunlight and warmth - like mama's own body temperature. I knew better than to blurt out something offensive, but I had caught myself close to saying something similar to that. In that stead, I added, "The cold is nice, I guess." My body wanted to shiver from the cold though.

I was hardly musing into my own thoughts as I slowly came to realize how the pretty mare had trailed off when she was about to answer a question of ambiguity. I didn't mentioned an exact type, but the words spilled from my mouth to keep the silence at bay. She returned to reality with an apology before her answer became clear. I was sorely disappointed in knowing I felt so young and childish when it became obvious how her own molding indicated experience and time that I still had yet to be exposed for my own appearance. "You're not old!" I exclaimed, blurting out in surprise she would consider herself such. I dropped my head with a nervous chuckle before lifting it again to somewhat meet her gaze.

The conversation continued, but I dreaded the family card being pulled back out again. I knew I would end up chattering about everyone I knew and loved before the traditions were painstakingly real for an aging colt like myself. Maybe get emotional over something I could not bring back - time wouldn't bring that back even if I could travel back to see their faces. Of various shades; mainly brown and black hues painted on short-haired fur. Markings varied, but the majority shared the same: face markings, and legs covered in a shade of white. The genes ran wild in its lack of variety - a lot of following the crowd. I told her some of that in tidbits as I recalled with some disgust at the lack of creativity in our mindsets, but also a hint of longing to see their silly faces again. I added a few cases such as my friends back home, and a few happened to be a beautiful shade of gold - a palomino.

Honestly, I had no idea what brought up genetics, but that was the only thing I kept rambling about between mouthfuls of oxygen being fed into the famished lungs. Eventually I had to stop, but I was strangely pleased to be able to mention something again relating to my family. It was a strange topic indeed, but it was something. It was something.

@[Elsa]