They walked quietly for a while. Father and daughter headed North, to perhaps the most inhabitable place that could possibly have been, for it seemed that they had never left winter. Manhattan’s coat grew thicker as they carried on, and though the times and seasons changed further south, it was true now more than ever that Winter really was coming, and that even here in the middle of nowhere, that a life could be scratched out among the rocks—as long as he had an anchor. He was in love—not with a lover, but with the idea of family for the first time in his life. Oakheart was with him, following him willingly to a place that neither of them were sure existed, but one that Manhattan had heard about as a boy. The Tundra—a home for just stallions, unattached and wild. Mind, he was unaware of the changes to the society that lay within the kingdom, but he hoped that bringing his daughter with him, and keeping her with him would not be a problem for whomever ruled there.
She would be free to come and go at her leisure, but there was a sense of belonging and camaraderie that held them together, and bound them to see to the further betterment of the other. As to talking, there was not much. They did talk some, getting to know each other, as fathers and daughters ought (especially after a lifetime apart, Manhattan having plenty to catch up with and make up for), but they mostly fell into a steady pattern, and a comfortable silence as traveling companions heading for the next stages of their lives.
Once they hit the break, Manhattan overtook the ledge and looked down into a snow-covered plain that seemed to stretch on for miles. A satisfied smirk settled on his features, and he turned to Oakheart and nodded, before pulling his body forward through the rocks, taking care to keep his feet flat, his pace steady and sure. The last thing that either of them needed was an injury after coming so far, seeking—whatever it was that they were looking for.
This was the Tundra, This was a new life for both of them, and a chance for Manhattan to find something he was good at, rather than running away from who he was trying to be.
Let’s try being something for once, shall we?
MANHATTAN
Baby, I'm from New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of;
there's nothing you can't do.
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of;
there's nothing you can't do.