He is young, Gravitas.
And not so young that he does not know the limitations of his youth.

He is tired still when he makes for the mountain. Tired from the valiant effort it had taken both him and Tirza to fend off the army of the undead their father had sent after them.

It has been days since they emerged victorious, but still he is tired.
But even more than he is tired, he is determined.

He travels under the cover of darkness, trudging from the Cove to the base of the Mountain. He understands magic, at least on some base level. He had been born with the ability to shift himself into a snake, collapsing all his flesh and bone and sinew into something so much smaller. And when he turns his gaze to the night sky, shooting stars seem to follow the path of his eyes through the dark. Sometimes they fall down around him, raining, burning holes in the ground where they land.

But there is more than his magic, he knows. For he had watched his father command an army of bleached bones that had crawled up out of the earth.

He shrinks himself now, for the trek to the summit of the Mountain will be easier as a serpent. Still, it takes hours for him to reach the peak. And when he finally does, he pulls himself back into the shape of a horse.

He is young, Gravitas, but he knows what to do.
He lifts his proud head and blinks into the darkness. He says boldly, “hello, my name is Gravitas.” It’s not important, his name, but he offers it anyway. He turns in one slow circle.

“There is so much cruelty in the world,” he continues – as if one day he will not also be cruel, as if there is any chance of him ever being anything else – “and I would like to better protect myself and my sister from it.”