Snö's ears flickered, catching vague, distant sound. Tamlin. She had woken him so swiftly and unexpectedly this morning- she was somewhat surprised he had actually followed her. Maybe he was more brave than she thought, a fact which she might respect. Or he might be just be stupid, romping out here in the middle of winter when he hardly knew her. How old was he anyways? One year, eight months? The varnish mare wrinkled her muzzle slightly. Snö was nearing three years, come this Birdsong. At this moment, she was two and a half. It was a strange thought, thinking that in just two more years she would truly be an adult, one whose word would be respected as it should be. And who knew, maybe she would be something even more important than just an adult...

"Tamlin!" Snö calls softly, shutting her eyelids slowly, the wind no doubt carrying her voice back to him. Slowly, casually, she moves towards the dark blur in the distance, light-footed over the abysses beneath her feet, fearless and bold-hearted. Nothing could stop her from achieving her dreams, and that single thought lightened her chest and gave her the slightest of smirks, the curl of the right side of her mouth. Soon enough Snö is close to him, the indistinct darkness with a patch missing gradually coming clearer. He is dark, ebony, so sharp and clear-cut against the snow. It is as if heavy snow has settled over his hindquarters, and his tail is as creamy as Snö's white. His horn, too, is covered lightly in frost, frost that gleams dully and softly. Mostly, Snö notices how he has filled out, the broad chest and big barrel, muscled neck and strong, slim legs, hardened muscle from his travels, wherever he had been. For a long, critical moment his sister looks him up and down, scrutinizing him, trying to find her father in him, and maybe, a little bit of herself. The black coat must've been inherited from whatever slut birthed him, but his medium build was more like hers.

"Are you brave Tamlin?" Snö asks, drawing a little closer, careful where she puts her feet. Her smirk widens slightly, into a slightly more natural smile. "You must be brave to live up to our father, little brother. You cannot shame our King today or tomorrow or in a year, even if one day we will rise above him." Still Snö comes a little closer, finally halting a good three feet away, pale clouds of smoke twirling up from her nostrils as she inhales and exhales the frigid air of the Steppe. "We are born of royal blood- prove yourself, Tam. Run on the edge of the abyss, and do not fall." I am royal-blooded. You are a whore's son, but let that be forgotten as we play bloody games.