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In the single season since his birth, Tristan had learned that two things were fact.

Firstly, that pain was a steady constant. The irritating itchiness, the dry, aching pain, the annoying persistence of his lame eye that didn’t seem to be improving as time went on. There seemed to be no reprieve, but the young Princeling did his best to keep his hopes up. Perhaps it would just take time? Tristan knew that he was young, after all… Maybe his eye just needed more time in developing?

As the days dragged on and the snow and frost  began to melt, the colt was certain that ‘needing to develop’, however, wasn’t the case. His eye just was, and he hated it. Loathed it. Detested it. Tristan hated the reflection that looked back at him, the gross deformity which left him self-conscious and timid.

What did others think of his eye? Did they laugh? Did they jest or joke? Did they find him disgusting or different? A monster?

These anxious thoughts caused the sooty colt to hide the left side of his face when speaking to strangers, or really anyone who wasn’t his dam or sire.

The second fact that Tristan had learned was that nothing stayed the same. If he had truly learned anything during his short, pubescent time on the earth, it was that everything changed. When he had first opened his eyes on that first day of Frostfall, snow had caked the earth, leaving the world in a frozen wonderland. Days were short, nights were long, and when darkness rose upon the world Tristan would need to cuddle close to Destrier and Romani to stave off the persistent chill.

However, the Princeling had learned that the days did grow longer, the nights did grow shorter, and the air around them grew warm. The snow and frost began to melt, and soon tiny green buds began sprouting from the barren trees, birds began to flitter about and sing. The world was changing. Tristan himself was changing.

No longer was he a tiny, unsteady, unbalanced thing. While still small in comparison to his parents and fellow herd-mates, Tristan was growing. His legs were longer, steadier. His shoulders more prominent, hips more muscled. While still a gangly youth, awkward and downhill, he was growing. Changing. Adult-ing.

Still.

Tristan found that he liked these longer days. He enjoyed the freedom of playtime that lasted longer into the evening, as well as the warm wind that blew through the Falls to hold the frosts at bay. He enjoyed watching the birds that would dance through the sky, and remarked silently to himself how beautiful the new dash of green made the land. Despite his anxiety about himself, Tristan discovered that he enjoyed many things.


That was what he stood doing now, admiring the green adornments to the trees, turquoise eyes wide in wonder, nostrils flaring as he soaked up every new damp, earthy scent. The adults called this upcoming season ’Birdsong’, and Tristan was slowly learning why. He stamped a small hoof, watching with transfixed excitement as it sunk into the muddy earth with a squelching ’splat!’, effectively splattering mud over his legs, and in an abrupt moment of child-like glee, the colt squealed, tossed his head up, jerked around, and took off bucking across the muddy clearing.

When he was alone, Tristan could live. He didn’t need to worry about others judging him or making fun of him, or looking at him funny because of his deformed eye. The anxiety that others were judging him didn’t get to him, and his heart, his soul, felt light and innocent.

The young colt dashed around in the mud, kicking up dark brown muck that clung to long, lanky legs and the pangare of his underbelly. He snorted, reared, and continued to prance about in the mud, uncaring of the filth and what his parents would think upon seeing him.

ooc: For Milo. <3