The ashen boy, highlighted by the maroon hairs of mane and tail, finally discerns the voice cast out like a lifeline beyond treacherous waters. It reels him in by foot, where he settles somewhere, in that conglomerate of people that he might call family. To be lost once more by their feathers, their horns and curious features. He searches for familiar faces, for Valdis or Vezer, Farah or Iskra, and Patrick too. The simple shrieks and spins of Melita, or the accompanying stroll of Pippigrin. Strangely, the boy finds himself one of the very first colts – soon to be accompanied by the other foals.

He tries not to think about her. Mother, pressed into the back of his mind – hovering, while he took his place in the crowd’s bulk. The desire to search for her form itched at his eyes, and with each inhale, filled with the herd’s scents – strained for her particular perfume.

Saoirse shook his head at himself, rattling these feelings that stuck to his ribs – and continued to poison his soul. She was gone, she had left him; but that did not drive away his childish need, his basic wants from resurfacing two fold. Within the Throat’s family he felt incredibly isolated as he stood there, staring soundlessly at their new leader and driving each telltale signs of the ‘toxin’ with the mammoth’s words. There is a moment when he catches the stallion’s crimson gaze, but only for a second, before diving into rules and ranks.

The youth shifted restlessly throughout the meeting, despite how heavy the sense of respect and discipline hung in the air. Twitching feathers along his back, swaying his tail. He charges his gaze to Ampere when she takes the dune stage. Her words are assured, perhaps just as certain as Volterra’s – but he feels the familiar pull of kinship. He wanted to believe they were all kin.

The Sultana appears to end the bulk of the meeting with a question. The boy relinquishes a soft sigh, to dart his attention on Sunjata. A blue and white pegasus he isn't familiar with. But like all the other faces the boy hasn’t quite met, he remains impartial and at odds with their presence.

The stallion grants him a thought however, much like his suggestion – Saoirse begins to speak up after the stallion. Inspired, restless, whatever it was the energy had coiled and caused his lips to form and his voice to rise. However small it first appeared.

“I would like to go, too,” he says without thinking. His cheeks feel hot and red, even though they look quite impartial. Searching for a reasonable explanation. “M… maybe to trade plants, or something…”

His voice flounders, not quite able to communicate that he wants to be useful. That his youth does not prevent him from joining the others; that he must learn, given the trails ahead of them. His eyes are a pair set with determination, and perhaps he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The Sun God had decreed it, after all – hadn’t he?

- Stick together, train, spy, learn what you can.