The boy is hardly more than a child, surely.

And yet, for once, Yseulte finds she doesn't mind so much. She remembers Torasin's little brats, and how they had latched to her like two little shadows. One had been ever so polite—Nym, was it? No, perhaps Abel. Yseulte was hopeless when it came to the little urchins—children all looked the same to her. Their little faces had a tendency to blend together; they all had those large doe eyes, knobby knees, and snotty noses. But she had tolerated them, nonetheless, because they were not just any children, they were Torasin's boys. They had his eyes, too, perhaps not the exact shade of sea foam green, but just as bright and enchanting, glimmering with warmth and sunlight. She wondered what had become of the twins, and regretted not telling Torasin what fine sons he had and how much she enjoyed their company, even if it tasted a lie in her mouth.

Boy or no, she sees the way the world is forcing him to grow up before his time. He has beautiful eyes, but they are ageless, weary eyes that do not reflect the polished youth of his smooth face. She recalls the days of her own childhood, when half of her heart still lingered in the sunlight of sweet, blissful childhood, desperately soaking up the rays of innocence before the darkness of truth and reality could taint her unblemished soul. Was he, too, struggling within himself, as she once had? Searching for truth and answers, but secretly hoping to come up from the search empty-handed? Life would certainly be easier that way, if one could simply ignore the harsh cruelties of life and pretend everything was always as it was in the days of childhood—simple and carefree.

Unfortunately, that was not how the world functioned, as he would soon discover for himself, if he hadn't already.

In a timid voice, the pegasus colt mentioned Itzal in a gentle, probing manner that was ever so polite. She glanced at the sullen creature, brooding and bitter beneath his icy ledge, staring at the pair of them with luminous eyes a poisonous shade of violet. The fury of his angry young heart was breathtaking, and incredibly saddening. And, oh, how he resented her! "No, no, I suppose you are right. Itzal is not a kitten, no more than I. And neither am I old." Though surely I have lived a thousand lives to feel such loss. She smiled wanly. "Such a wise little lord."

Itzal then prowled from beneath his icy ledge towards the circle of growth encompassing the young lord, eying the pegasus with bold, unwavering eyes. Decayed wildflowers, gone stiff and cold and colorless in the dead of winter, now bloomed and flourished in the stranger's presence. The way the pale blushing flowers reached for him, yearning and desperate, you'd think he was the sun itself and their very existence depended on him.

And perhaps it did.

Ma'am. A thin smile traced her pale velvet lips. Such manners. Who was his mother? A remarkable woman, surely, to have ensnared the God of the Earth himself, and even more remarkable to raise the demigod child to be humble, polite, and endearing. With luck and time, he will do great things, this boy. She considered his question thoughtfully, taking her time as she enjoyed the feeling of the swollen earth thawing beneath her hooves, moist and sponge-like. A flawless violet unfurled in front of her, perfect and unblemished for all the world to see, though surely it's roots were twisted and ugly. If ever Yseulte conceived a daughter, she would name her Violet, and hope and pray that her daughter's roots would not be half so black as her own.

"No, precious boy, I am not looking for Father Earth, though I would gladly look upon his fair face again. ." The flavor of her words tasted melancholy on her tongue. "I was hoping to find someone else here, a man with silver eyes. He was a thief, you know." The thief of my heart. Where have you gone, King of Thieves? Did you abandon me, too? Perhaps it was for the best that he had left her, before she could leave him, as she surely would have before their time was done together. Yseulte was a desert flower at heart; beautiful to look at, perilous to touch, and impossible to tame. Yes, it was only for the best. She glanced at the boy in his circle of adoring earth. Itzal lay in the grass, dozing; a flower petal hovered on his soft pink nose.

"A friend, indeed...I wonder." She did not say aloud what she wondered. Her gaze softened as she looked upon his young face and desperate eyes, desperate to hear something, anything. "He was a fine thing, your friend. But I've discovered one can often do without friends. They're awfully disappointing sometimes, wouldn't you agree?"