The eager scion was brought into the stretches of winter as a gallant, though gangly, counterpart to the wicked winds and the subtle wiles, playing, rummaging, unfolding into curious depths and unending dreams. Where there was once crisp, light, baby fur, he’d become fully entrenched in thickened layers of pelt, another being deemed capable of surviving the hostile throes of Frostfall and its trenchant disputes. His mane had lengthened, no longer bobbing threads of whimsical hair, now flopping delicately over the arch of his nape, waltzing ever so slightly with the ruffle of a breeze. His leonine tail, with its once tiny tufts of mane, had blossomed and bloomed into a ferocious puff, capable of scaring away enemies with its tangled knots and embittered lowlights. All the while, as he grew, as he gained height and weight and awareness, the little beast traversed the grounds of his home, wandered over hither and yon, capturing bliss or rendering inquisitions to those who would hear them, not yet a menace, nor completely encased in innocence. He seemingly appeared to wait and bide his time for the ripened opportunities of discovery and mysteries, yearning to be woven and plaited into those boiling sectors of intrigue and mystique, following his father amidst the boundaries, guarding the sacred glaciers and hallowed walls, tiptoeing after his mother and painting her portraits of stories and silhouettes. On days where he couldn’t find beloved Zikar-Sin and his wondrous tales, the colt chiseled his way through ice, or flew across the never-frozen lake, practicing the one magic he could control, pretending to be Poseidon’s long-lost descendent, king of the ocean and master of the seas.

An idle moment passed over him, and had he not been paying attention to the sights, the sounds, the air, it may have disappeared completely, never allowing him the opportunity of reuniting with his friend. The familiar scents whittled their way through his nares first as he played alongside the Haruspex’s cave (today he hadn’t dared to stare at his reflection in the reflecting glass; but tomorrow, perhaps), almost trumpeting, bellowing, in their zealous outcry. Adelric! The notion of his visit carved a swift stride into the babe’s movements, no sooner had he been still and wary, did he cast off into the distance, leaping in the burdening snow, leaving behind massive footprints of rugged, haphazard launches. Excitement and glee burned its way through his veins, hastening his arrival before fully understanding any other reason behind Adelric’s appearance (for surely, a companion was always welcome in the Basin; after all, he’d invited him), winding his way amongst the hearty sector, born into the role of Siberian inhabitant, chasing along the scenic routes and icy valleys. Adelric’s sister, whose name he’d caught once before but was ultimately forgotten, seemed to be there as well, and so too was the GildedBlade, the dam Rikyn always complained about. He bestowed her the respect of going first, of pledging her words into the fray, but then quickly thereafter burst from behind her, a fledgling of power and domination unaccompanied by finesse or anything other than the bright, stalwart candor he’d prospered within. Erebos, quick and eager, grinned and careened, luminescent and uplifted, vocals burgeoning on the heightened sentiments. “Welcome to the Basin! Are you here to visit?” Like a rampant bumblebee or a cloaked sparrow, he chattered and chittered, exhilarated, thrilled, at all of the things they could do. He’d have to show them everything – the lake, the caves, the high, stony trails that led to doom or beauty. He took heed to wink at Tobias, who was still quite awe-inspiring, before turning to Illynx and addressing her queries as best he could; a twinkle of his mother, and no sign of his father. “This is my friend, Adelric!”