Trees. Nothing but damned trees. Ever since leaving Taiga he’d strayed slightly from the path and had found himself drifting south until he’d entered the border of Sylva. Since then, he’d happily gotten himself lost in the myriad of trees. His solitude had been therapeutic to him in a way. There were no meddlesome mares who felt that it was their job to change him. He wasn’t interested in changing.
 
Winter and travel clung to him. His fur had grown longer, making him look scruffier than he usually preferred. His grey coat was thick and the scruff on his face had grown long giving him a more matured look. Though, he hardly recognized his reflection anymore.
 
The smell of other horses had grown stronger the farther into Sylva he’d wandered. Normally he would have avoided the main hub, but for some reason he found himself wanting to investigate.
 
He’d never belonged to a kingdom before. The whole idea felt restraining and uncomfortable to him. Diplomatic missions and grand defensive battles held no appeal to him. More than likely he’d burn a kingdom to the ground before he’d find himself useful to it.
 
No, he preferred his life as a nomad. It was comfortable and familiar. He could never imagine himself answerable to anyone and he would make a poor excuse for a leader. Monotony had never been a strong suit of his. From a very young age he’d discovered that it was easier to be alone. Relationships were messy and unpredictable. Even a mother could grow bored enough to abandon her own child – a lesson he’d learned himself. Looking back at those years of struggle, he could thank the woman who held the majority of his contempt. She’d taught him early on how to rely upon himself – not the fickle interests of women.
 
Relationships were as changing as the seasons.
 
He took what he needed when it was required and was free to leave just as quickly as he had come.
 
Rounding a bend, he watched his footing as he came upon a suddenly rocky alcove. Boulders towered over him, casting their shade upon the already cold forest floor. Autumn colored leaves hung overhead, a phenomenon that had always fascinated him. Even in the depths of winter this part of the forest never lost it’s leaves. Vibrant and unburdened by snow, he enjoyed Sylva in the winter. It was far more bearable that any other kingdom surrounding them.
 
Halting at the peak of the bolder he gazed downward at the forest floor below.

The silent solitude of Sylva surrounded him. With every drop of a twig his muscles tensed in anticipation. He was weary. The last stranger he’d met on the road had left him unusually drained. She’d left her scars upon him, liking the raking of talons upon his usually thick hide. He was no stranger to the characters that filled Beqanna. For years he’d watched them from his place on the outside, glad to be detached from the mundane droll of their average lives. The confinement alone would have driven him to insanity.
 
Just as he was turning to leave a voice quipped from behind. Feminine and tantalizing, his eyes lit up beneath the scruff of his forelock. Slowly he turned, making a show of his fit physique. Pleasantly surprised, the stranger in his midst was undeniably beautiful. Vibrant she stood before him, her stark white coloring almost identical to that of the snow that blanketed the ground. Set apart only by her pale pink points and the fiery ombre of her hair. She was winged, like many other creatures throughout Beqanna, but she held a fascination for him that caught him by surprise.
 
Ever so carefully he climbed down from his perch and aligned himself before her. Unashamedly he allowed his eyes to wander across the expanse of her body. She held herself well, confidently almost as though she were royalty. Of course, Arithmetic had no actual way of knowing if she was, in fact, royalty. He paid very little attention the kingdoms and their ever-changing leaders. People were fickle and easily bored. There was no point in learning the name of one self-proclaimed king or queen when he knew they would either be replaced or overthrown quicker than they could be succeeded. He decided to keep that point to himself.
 
”It depends, love,” he replied flirtatiously. ”Who do I have the pleasure of stumbling into this fine wintery morning?”
 
Truthfully, he was surprised by how populated Beqanna seemed these days. He could hardly sneak through a kingdom these days without being noticed or approached. Not that he minded, of course. Some of those happenstances had played out much in his favor, but still. There were some days when he wished to sneak under the radar. But kingdom dwellers had grown overprotective and rarely let him escape without challenging his intentions. Admittedly, they had a reason to be slightly concerned by his presence. He had no qualms with stealing the innocence of one or two daughters. Not that, that was an intention of his on this particular pilgrimage.

Instantaneously the mare’s eyes changed and he could almost see her assumptions as they formed within her cold gaze. Exhaustion wrote itself across her features and Arithmetic wondered what could have been the cause of such a change. His boredom yawned. The last stranger he’d met had been a fiery personality that had left him unusually drained. He’d hoped that this mare would be a welcome distraction. Instead, her sudden disinterest met him like a sudden stiffening and he was almost tempted to continue on his way. That is, until she spoke.
 
Her woods? Surely not. What were the odds of him stumbling upon the queen of Sylva. He could almost have laughed at the irony. The idea that one single horse could rule over such a large expanse of nature was highly entertaining. It was his personal belief that such a feat was impossible. Trees bowed to no one.
 
”I beg your pardon, m’lady,” He said with a spark of sarcasm. ”I did not know I was in the presence of royalty, for it I had I would have knelt before your greatness.”
 
This Sabra held herself above him, that much was made plain. Such an attitude was not unfamiliar to him. Similarly, he’d been met by other leaders. Such an attitude rarely inspired his loyalty. He smiled a secret smile and looked at her more closely. Oh, she was beautiful a face she was well aware of, no doubt. Untainted by the cruelty of the world, her purity shone through the pale of her coat. He would have gladly enjoyed the pleasure she could offer him, but it appeared to him that she’d already been spoiled by another. The sticky sweet smell of milk radiated from her and he flinched involuntarily. She was a mother.
 
Gazing around her, he searched for any sign of a colt. Gladly, there was none. He had never been the fatherly type. The antics of children tested his patience. At least she was free from her burden. For now.

Her sudden outburst of laughter cut through the silence of the forest like a knife. Tensing he glanced back at her and watched as she slowly began to recover her wits. For a moment he wondered what thoughts could illicit such an unexpected reaction – perhaps she just found him that entertaining? Her walls were breaking down and her demeanor made a sudden harsh shift.
 
Curious, he traced his eyes along the length of her. Drinking in every marking, every scar – memorizing. This mare was beautiful in her purity. There was hardly a single flaw upon the pale ivory of her complexion. It was a marvel. She stood with a stiff formality, holding her in such a way as if to proclaim her status to those who beheld her. The woman’s confidence was almost alluring in a way.
 
As she spoke, his interest lifted once again. Child or no, she stood before him unburdened and, by the sound of her words, longing for a moment’s distraction. He was all too happy to oblige.
 
”My name is Arithmetic,” he revealed. ”But you may call me Ari.”
 
His was a name he’d given himself. His own mother hadn’t bothered herself with the task before her disinterest carried her away from him. As a two-year-old he’d begun referring to himself thusly, deciding that it was a huge improvement to ‘runt’ or ‘boy’.
 
The stallions in the bachelor herd had raised him to be tough and had taught him how to take care of himself. Soon, he’d learned that even their company had grown stale. Ever restless he could never find himself lingering in a single place for two long.
 
His mother’s parting curse, he supposed.
 
He wasn’t ashamed to claim that he maintained a few of his mother’s attributes. From what he remembered of her, she had been a beautiful mare. Wiley and flirtatious. Everywhere she went she turned heads of even the most devoted stallion.
 
”Tell me, queen Sabra,” he teased gently. ”What brings you to the outskirts of your land?”
 
Though she’d claimed to see herself no higher than the average horse, he could not resist the opportunity to poke fun at her position. He wondered what she would say if she knew the disdain he held for the kingdoms and their democracies. Most of them had fought hard to get to the place that they sat, but some were descendants from the earliest kings and queens. He wondered which was her story.