It had cooled considerably since the colt's arrival to the Foothills. When he had first come, the sun was at his back almost constantly, warming him, giving him a new light in which to view his world in a way. The warmth of his mother's brother was quick to wane, however, when Tallsun was laid to rest and made way for Orangemoon. The season marked his becoming a yearling, but whenever the colt put his mind to it and really thought about it, he couldn't believe how much had happened to him in his young life.

Hatred and loathing had been a constant in his life, but now, he'd been given a second opportunity. He had nothing to fear in the Foothills, for nobody had ridiculed him thus far for the blood he'd been born with. Often times he found himself wondering what sort of mangled mess he would be, had he not shared the blood of the Basin's Time Mender, d'Artagnan. While he did truly respect his father and the pale nurse, Kou, he knew their love for him was not the same as it was for the rest of their children. With a sigh, he would usually push the memories away and focus on meeting the members of his new home.

Today was no exception. The child of darkness ambled across the plains early that morning, just as the sun had begun to peak over the mountains. He was certain that many would not care to be up at such ungodly hours, but there had to be somebody. Idly he thought of the great waterfall that fell in the northern region of the land; would anybody be there to quench their morning thirst? Deciding that it was at least worth a shot, Mesec moved into a lengthy trot and pointed himself towards the landmark.

As he moved closer, Mesec could clearly make out the sounds of the waterfall, a gentle lulling from this distance. Should he find himself alone, he would drink his fill and simply move on until he found himself in the company of another. He felt childish yearning for the presence of those that accepted him, but such a trivial necessity could not be ignored in the colt's mind.

Rounding a crook of trees, Mesec breathed a sigh of relief when his silver gaze found the sight of the pale mare who had offered this land to him in the first place. It was Ophelia, and the mere sight of her caused a great swelling of happiness within his chest. But before he could call out his presence to her, he spied another, smaller figure standing at her side. It was as pale as Ophelia, but with the strangest azure markings upon her back. Curiously, the yearling began to approach, slowing his pace to an almost hesitant walk. The filly was still wet, but standing; how long had Ophelia been with child? He did not recall her barrel being too rounded during their time in the Steppe.

"Ophelia," he spoke up, dropping his head with dark ears flickering forward at the little filly, "What is her name?" At this, a genuine smile slowly pulled at the colt's lips. "She is beautiful."