The child considered the query as if the philosophy behind it was earth shattering and spell binding. His alluring gaze rose towards the heavens, the skies, and pondered over its divinity, its threshold, if he could be a bird within its depths, swooping, cawing, and gliding with the air, with the wind, with the breeze, naught between the earth and the mind. There were bound to be some advantages with floating upon the clouds: he’d be able to get places easier, faster, swifter, flying amongst the sovereigns and empires, deciding what was to be conquered, what was to be swallowed, spying and entreating himself to all the delicacies of a winsome babe. He could dive down upon enemies and rivals, if he ever acquired any, in a eagle embrace, slash with feral talons or peck at manes, croon and chirp his delight at their squandered, feeble attempts to give chase to his excellent calculations. But, disadvantages also prospered through his juvenile conjectures, and the most important resolved itself into a flagged lament: family. He’d have to leave them behind on his journeys to the horizon, for he couldn’t see his father altering his form to a flier – there was too much pride in being one with a sword, in power and might. His mother would stay upon the ground, resolute and solid, peaceful and harmonic, not wishing to disturb the further reveries and resolve of nature. His sister, Loth, might have followed him into the clouds, if he promised some sort of profit or convenience, but she’d wish to climb back down too, and be nestled amongst their brethren again. In the end, could he have sprouted feathers, shown off his remarkable plumage, for the sake of losing his loved ones? No – the decision was brief, but final. He wouldn’t bear to part with those that cherished him, those that loved him, those that embraced him for his faults (these wobbling legs), for his strengths (the Cheshire grin, the maddening lengths he’d go for stories), and for everything in between. Whether or not Adelric felt the same didn’t quite occur to Erebos, and he duly noted his resolution, his conclusion, with a steady note and an unfulfilled flight to Valhalla. “No. I wouldn’t want to leave my family.” The lad’s eyes returned back to the spotted colt, and his smile became a restored artifact, devilish and imp-like. “But maybe once in a while.” His stare gestured back to the sky again, in all of its haunting power, and trickled some ghostly captivation beyond his precision and capabilities. “It’d be fun to pretend to be a bird.”

Staggering back to the present, away from the daunting chimeras of his youthful imagination, he glanced along the fields once or twice, waiting to see if his dam had noticed his disappearance. When he realized she hadn’t crept up to take him home, the roguish smile returned, broadening, widening – and in a conspiring glimmer, a tactful whisper, he invoked juvenile interludes towards the other foal. “Do you want to play a game? Or race?” He saw opportunities laden before him, and couldn’t resist the experience of amusement and diversions when presented so neatly and conveniently.