The blue sky is marked with a few lingering, fluffy clouds, pleasant sights after the harsh summer that had baked everything into husks. The normally hock or higher grass is short, and breaks away where it isn’t from impact alone, and so I’m mostly trying to keep my eyes up to avoid the sinking in my belly anytime I take note of the sparse vegetation. Even Duir, who has remained sort of oblivious to the trouble Tallsun has leant Orangemoon, has begun to eye the once bountiful meadow with a bit of worry. I rather hope that he, or anyone else for that matter, never mentions it. I won’t know what to say to make the worry I feel not become his, too.

I’m so preoccupied with the pessimistic thought that, even if it rained, it was too late in the season to matter, that I almost don’t notice a pair of unicorns for who they are – well, one of them anyway. I almost miss them because the adult of the duo is my father, who I’ve only ever known to be accompanied by one colt.

Me.

The image makes me stop so suddenly that Duir keeps going some paces, before fretfully bounding back to me when he notices my absence, and the weird, aching sensation raking through our bond. Having some of my sire’s famous mind, I immediately piece it together for what it is; the bay coloration, the splash of color about the eye, and the shining, luminous colors of metal twinkling ironically among a child’s down.

At first, the notion that my father had made a new family is painful, and wreathed in jealousy. It leaves me with a dark, broiling heart that wonders if this boy is my replacement, if he will be loved by my father in all the ways I am not. Without much delay, however, the more thoughtful of my consciences arrives, and fiercely swats the first into oblivion. It reminds me of the first time I’d come home, how pleased he’d been to see me grown, and how he’d, not once, ever seemed like he thought less or more of me than he had when I’d left. It reminds me of how it felt to tell Aithniel stories, and that, this time, I’m much older, with much better tales to share than those I’ve stolen or poorly invented.

That is your brother, I think to myself, looking at his tiny, impish figure with wonder that starts small and builds in me, branching and flashing like the Spark’s light itself. My buck, used to the erratic nature of my emotions, seems to only be wondering if this is one of those times he won’t get to know why. When it looks like they're about to carry on with their day, I impulsively shout out.

"Hey, dad!" the buck’s jaw literally drops open, forest eyes shooting between the distant stallion and myself for many glances, even when I dart out across the field after the colt and stallion. Speeding along after me to try and catch up, the young cerndyr’s thoughts are whirling with confusion and excitement, alongside my own nervous (and wavering) happiness. "Dad! Wait up!"

[ OOC: SCREAMING BECAUSE BUBBYYYYYYY ]