Alone, Tiberios thrived.

There wasn't much land left to thrive on, but he persisted regardless. He assumed there were others eking out their quiet lives somewhere in the vast sky or sea. He wasn't one of them. Hadn't seen another living soul in what felt like eons.

Dead or alive, gold or silver. All of his memories are slowly washing away.

Some remain, like Talulah. His recognized children and the father he emulated to the point of losing himself - they remain. But the purpose and longing for them has all but vanished. Like the tides and the moon, his desires and pains transformed long ago.

Now, Tiberios is the shadow and the silence he loves so much. He is a persistent presence wherever the jungle or forest might thicken, wherever there is jungle or forest to be found. He sheds his horse-skin for that of a Liger, though he does not know the technicalities of his magical shapeshifting abilities, and hunts when he feels so inclined.

All things considered; he still likes to wander on four hooves.

Beqanna - the one he inhabits now - is like him. A faded memory of what was. But now and again Tiberios will find himself wandering like he is today, following the walkways where thousands of other hooves trod before him. He especially liked to wander among The Ruins, though he couldn't explain why.

Perhaps he felt closer to the spirits, less alone.

Today there weren't any spirits. Only rain. The autumn downpour was uncomfortable, but he couldn't be put off by a little bit of precipitation. Only when he spotted a hazy-looking figure through the downpour did Tiberios pause, half suspicious and partially amazed.

"Hello?" He spoke for the first time in months, hesitant.