Two things happen at once; first, I notice the stallion approaching, all muscles and a plush black coat and certain light to his features and step that said he was someone who was quite sure of himself, but no so audaciously open about it as mother was. I watch him come with my full focus set in his direction, wondering who he is (perhaps the General, or another of those that aren’t in the other herd within this herd because he most certainly had not been at the meeting) and whether or not he’ll bother talking to me.

It seems like he’s walking this way, at least, and I am filled with a sense of excitement that such a person wants to talk to me, but also hesitancy; an ear and eye flick towards mother, at least where she had been when I’d snuck off. As much as I wanted to get away, its frightening in ways to face strangers without her comfort nearby, or her loving kicks and nudges to get me to say the right things. She’s spent a lot of time telling me that how you carry and present yourself to others have more long term effects than anything you do and they catch wind of. I want this man to respect me, at least a little.

It’s probably asking too much.

Especially considering the second thing is now happening; all while I’m staring at this dual horned mammoth of a man and wondering who he is, my “sister” has been barreling towards me, unnoticed in my childish wonder with the stranger, and so it is too late that I catch the sound of her dainty, dark toned hooves beating into the mountain loam, too late that I cast my eyes to her with a bright and astounded expression.

"Thistle sis - OOOMPH!" I manage as our frames meet, a gaggle of narrow bodies and flailing legs that surely has wiped any chance of respect I have from this approaching man clean and clear from his mind. It seems my sister is still standing while I’ve had the displeasure of being cast from my hooves and rolled down into the grass, and I quickly rise in time to meet the features of the imposing male figure standing among the two of us, tufts of grass clinging to the frizzy, jutting arch of my mane.

I snort as he gives his nickering greeting, not because I’m mad at him or this conversation but because there is dust in my nose and I’m afraid I’m going to sneeze. I feel my sister huddle up nearer to me as he speaks, wondering why it is she’s always so timid and frail when she spends more time alone than I ever have, but it’s also comforting to know that, while my chances to impress the stranger are long gone, she still needs me.

Catching his words, I move to reply until sister asks me what he said. I glance over at her and smile in a fake, aggravated sort of way, nudging her with my shoulder as I answer both at once. "Momma never said father had family here," I say brightly, a quick glance given to my white and golden embellished sibling to show her that I was answering her question, too, "it’s good to meet you. I’m Rikyn, and this is my Thistle Sister...she doesn’t have a real name yet I don’t think. I’m, uh, well." I pause, smiling ruefully at the older stallion and seeing a lot of father in him now that he’s pointed this out to me and finding that its harder to tell him the truth of what I’m doing out here because of this.

"I’m sort of avoiding mother," my smile flashes easily across dark lips and a bit of light laughter ushers forth, ears loosely hanging to either side of my head and lion’s tail curling anxiously behind me and a smile over to my sister, "and I guess spending time with Thistlebabe. Momma doesn’t let her come with us very often."

I watch the anger flash across the tall, strong man’s face and cannot help but feel a small faltering within myself in fear for Aithniel and then reeling back into a confused fear as to why he stayed mad when I said she wasn’t usually allowed to come with us. Surely this man knew of the rules mother lived by? I was under the opinion that most of them were of the same mind that she was if the meeting I had gone to with her was any precursor, and that it roused such emanations from the dual horned titan confuses me.

My face probably reads as much as I stare at him with large, unblinking eyes, leaning ever so slightly towards my sister (perhaps I shouldn’t have shoved her away so soon) until a smile breaks the hostility that had turned him into fearsome stone. If he is father’s cousin, I’m looking forward to my future – the thought of being as impressive a figure as this man or my dad makes a young boy’s heart flutter.

He’s suddenly much nicer than he had been at first, which almost makes me smile because it reminds me of father and his moods – but I am also worried that any giggles or grins on my behalf may come across as mockery and so I remain stoic in the face of my humorous comparison. I catch the name my sister has given herself and I am not so tactful in restraining the grin that breaks my features.

It’s a pretty name, one that suits her well and that I like repeating to myself silently.

A chirp draws my eyes downwards and Aithniel’s shoulder jostles me, and as she squeals in delight I take in a sharp inhalation of excitement and bound forward as well. "A griffon!" I cry, echoing the more childish name that my sister has given the creature with its real title. Hopefully Uncle will not judge her for not knowing what it is called – I already told him that momma doesn’t have much to do with her and, unfortunately, sounding like an idiot is a consequence. I mentally mark down in my young mind to teach her about companions the next time we have a chance to be alone together so she doesn’t make that mistake again.

"Oh, she’s so pretty!" my nose is lowered and I admire the color of her feathers and the wide, intelligent eyes nestled in her face. The creature is even more wonderful than it had sounded to me when momma had described them and I can’t stop staring for the life of me. "What’s her name? How did you get her egg? Momma says there is an old turtle that hoards them."

She hadn’t actually said those words exactly, but from what my little mind can remember and process that’s the best paraphrasing job I can accomplish. I think the story was more along the lines of that she’d found an old turtle once who had an egg and that he’d said he did it quite often, but that was just too many words for such an exciting moment.

For once, the conversation focuses on my sister, and while I do feel twinges of jealousy that my Uncle is ignoring me for my adopted sibling, I concede and let her have the attention that she so rarely gets from any adults aside from momma when its time for dinner. I tried really hard to ask questions during that time about whatever it was we’d learned that day for Aithniel’s benefit, but my dam was not stupid for as much as she was insane and very rarely played along. That had left me with only a few stolen moments with her where I could either play (which was by far the better choice) or play barely-older-brother-teacher with her (which was terribly droll, and not one of my strong suits).

The question he asks manages to tear my eyes away from the griffon for a moment before they flutter back, ears taking in Aith’s response and smiling softly at her lack of detail. Is that really all she knew about how we’d found her? I snort chuckle in a somewhat mean way, not truly to hurt her – because it isn’t her fault she doesn’t know – but to remind her how others will treat her when her ignorance shows so clearly. It’s a mean thing momma has taught me and despite that it makes me feel like shit when she does it to me, it’s really fun to do to other people.

"I found you. We almost passed you, actually, but you were very white and the grass was quite green," I say proudly, looking up from Irelyn with a pleased smile on my lips as I look over at my snowy sibling, "momma was eating lunch in the Thistle Meadow and we heard you crying." I wonder why it is we’ve never talked about this before, but shrug it off with ease and slip my eyes back to the griffon now that I’ve told them all I know about where she had come from.

Uncle Torleik tells us her name as we both fall back into playing with her, a pretty sounding thing that is followed shortly after by a mocking snort from my sister. I look over at her hotly, brows creased and my golden eyes burning with agitation. It’s what momma had said! Why would she make up some nonsense story about a turtle?

The laugh of the nearby stallion draws my eyes towards him, his words cooling my temper and putting a stupid expression on Aithniel’s face and I smile smugly to know she had wrongly mocked me. That there really is a turtle takes a moment to dawn on me because of my jilted ego – and when it does, I struggle against making the same face she does.

There really is a turtle that hoards eggs?!

My eyes look over excitedly at my Thistle Sister, the yearning to find this creature and take one of his precious eggs pulsing in my head as I plot how we’ll steal away into the wilds to look for him.

But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the griffon, a dreamy look on her face. And what she says makes me frown and feel really, really sad – mostly because what momma says of her means she’ll never be worthy of much of anything. I don’t agree, of course; she’s smart, even if she doesn’t know very much, and her heart is strong. I have more fun playing with Aithniel than I do during any other part of my day, and I know in my heart that she’s not the monster that everyone says she is. Why would I like her so much if she was?

"I hope so too," I say, looking at her with a less hostile and arrogant smile on my face, one that resonates with the truth that I deeply wish it for her but that I also wouldn’t mind having a bonded friend, too, "you can even have a griffon if you want, Aith! You have horns. Momma said they only bond with those who have them." My smile grows excited, golden eyes flashing with the knowledge I have that Aithniel does not, eager to share it with her but not wanting to be rude in front of my uncle – he probably knows all of this too, after all. But, eager as all boys, some spills out anyway. "Ohhh, or you have wings!" my body trembles with excitement at the notion that she can bond with the pegasus creatures, the burning birds that had sounded ever so fascinating no matter the disgust that had tinged momma’s voice when she talked of them, "Momma says that there are these great big birds that are on fire and occasionally burn into nothing and become hatchlings again. Those are only for people who can fly though." The last sentence is spoken with a barely hidden bitterness, some jealousy managing to have found its way into my heart as soon as I’d put together that Aith, one day, would be able to be like a bird and fly away from this place and anything else she felt was holding her down.

That meant she could leave me, and I didn’t like that thought much at all.

When Uncle asks me where momma is, there is a certain tone to the way he says it that makes my ears fall back ever so slightly and my eyes broaden, mostly because I’m not sure how I should approach this situation. He sounds… less than amused, I guess is how I’ll word it, and in all honesty, I don’t know where mom is – though it’s probably somewhere, looking for me. A quick glance over at Aithniel verifies that she’s not sure of the direction this is going, either, which leaves it to just me.

A broad, childish smile expands on my lips, one dark shoulder rolling in a dismissive way. "Probably looking for me," is my roguish reply, toothy grin fading as I looked around me in the sudden realization that she could discover us here at any moment, "why?" The question is returned to him as my eyes fall back to the large stallion before me, one hoof digging at the dirt before me as reality, the truth that I will have to find momma at some point, begins to find its first foot holds in my games of escape. "I can find her, if you need her for somethin’," I begrudgingly admit, thinking to myself that I would likely only have to throw myself down and have a fit and she’d come running with fear plastered all across her stupid face for my efforts.

It wouldn’t be hard.

Uncle Torleik, I notice, has good advice; where I mindlessly quip my love at my sister, he gives her solid truths to build herself around. I listen, too, not wanting to miss any lessons Aithniel had but also wanting to make sure that he wasn’t trying to take advantage of her; momma warned me that many here won’t be nice to my Thistle Babe, and that they will make her cry and will trick her into unkind things. But Uncle seems kind, and the words he shares make sense, at least in a way. It was a lot like a nicer version of mother’s be yourself no matter what anyone thinks stories, less involved around one’s selfish desires and focused around the emotional qualities of a person.

I blink slowly in response, not really sure what to say when comparing such two different moral lessons.

Selflessness? Did that mean choosing someone else over yourself more often than not?

What a terrible notion that was; you’d never get anywhere in life with that sort of attitude. Sure, I felt some degree of giving when I looked at the girl alongside me, or when with my friends or family, but to always be the sort of person to think of how it would benefit others rather than myself?

Suddenly I find that I’m watching my hooves while my head churns away at this new information, suddenly a caricature of my father as the wheels of knowledge click and whir within my brain, picking apart every small facet of what he had just told Aithniel and myself until it fits in with all else that I know.

It takes some time.

When I’m praised for knowing of companions, I do manage to escape my ruminations long enough to flash a proud smile at Uncle and another look at Aithniel, to make sure I hadn’t wounded her feelings. Instead, she’s sharp as ever with her own retorts, and I smile all the more broadly that she is always so quick and distinct in her decisions in ways that I can dwell on them for weeks and never truly have an answer, unless that answer was solid fact.

When it comes to me, what I feel, what I want, and what I need – I’m not so sure. Maybe Aithniel being alone so often has given her more advantages than I might have thought.

As I look at her with an almost sad expression of realization, a paw suddenly thumps against my nose, the tingling sensation ripping a sneeze from deep within my lungs and making my back end rise from the ground in the sudden motion. Overly cross with this display of absolute idiocy I’d just been forced to put on in front of people I was trying to impress, my tail slashes with annoyance until I note the playful stance that Irelyn has taken, how she tempts me into her game – and while I’m pretty sure that I’m being gotten rid of by the way Torleik eyes me (momma gets rid of me fairly often for her private affairs she doesn’t want me to know of), it seems just as entertaining to play with the griffon as it does to eavesdrop.

Aithniel will probably tell me what he said later, anyway.

With a feigned snort of savagery I plunge away from my Uncle and sister, playfully swatting at the griffon with my tail as I trot by, occasionally parrying her swats with a small, partially formed and knubby gold and black horn.