He liked it by the water. It was where he had been born, after all, on the southern shore of the golden peninsula, and it was where Ma would take him when she wanted to get away. They'd tuck themselves into an outcropping of rock, or beneath a sheltered tree, or they would walk along the stormy edge, the one-winged boy listening avidly to finely spun stories, basking in the warmth of his mother's love.

Sometimes he went there by himself. Ma was always busy, doing things for the herd, and the boy didn't like to admit it but he had grown quietly jealous of her obligations, resentful of his time spent outside of her gaze. He'd tried to keep up with the warriors, but of course he could not: he was just too small, and he couldn't fly, and sometimes... sometimes, it was just so hard to keep up, to keep smiling, to laugh through the looks he was given, the pity in all of their eyes.

Well, HE'D show 'em! Let 'em just wait!

The waves seemed to applaud his resolve, and Zèklè's heart swelled with pride. Brashly he stepped closer to the water, slate hooves slipping, haphazard, over moist stone and onto coarse sand. Water lapped hungrily at his pasterns, staining black legs a darker tone, but the lightning backed boy was not afraid. Indeed, he even as he stumbled he could do naught but laugh, giggling helplessly and snorting inelegantly as minnows swam, panicked, from the impending doom of his tramping feet.

"Rawr!" the lightning-back colt roared. Rawr, the ocean hollered back, accepting the boy as his king.

A flicker of movement, a flash of silver and black, caught the attention of the adventurous child. Somewhere further down the coast another figure was enjoying the sun, his gaze intent on something unseen. Curious and unafraid the boy crept closer, his body held close in a mournful attempt at subtlety, stealth. Tailfeathers wiggled against his tail as mischief crept into sunbeam eyes; the idea that this was a stranger, that he should be cautious, never began to cross his mind. This was the Throat, after all, his kingdom, where his Ma was the best fighter in the whole world and his Da was the Sultan (maybe). He had nothing to be concerned about here.

So the boy did not think twice as he suddenly leaped into decisive action, closing the gap between himself and the stranger in a damp explosion of movement and wet.

"HI!" Zèklè's young voice exclaimed, a vibrant grin affixed to his face. Silver-orange gaze peered at the strange black, glancing without recognition or concern over evening-kissed features. "Watcha lookin' for? Maybe I can help? I'm a good finder." Youthful eagerness shone through his hopeful voice, the desire to have a friend, and to show off how great he (probably) would be at finding whatever the stallion had lost.


@[Mesec]