anyone;

[Nashua]

NASHUA

He seems to have acquired his mother’s talent for slipping through the cracks and shadows between the Taigan Redwoods. On a late summer afternoon when something has distracted her, Nashua wanders away from his twin brother and dam - more determined than the last time he had crept away to try and learn his fledgling wings.

The flaxen colt flicks an ear occasionally behind him, waiting for the sounds of the familiar strides that don’t come. In the beginning, he thinks it's because of the thousands of pine needles under hoof. It is sometimes hard to hear a horse approaching on the Taigan trails, he is learning. Eventually, the cushioned ground gives way to different surfaces. Nashua stops then, realizing he has gone too far to go back and know his way home. (North, he is supposed to go North but which way was that?) He doesn’t recognize the Mountains that keep guard around him.

His green eyes become worried but then - then, he hears it!

The River is talking to him - bubbling and beckoning.

Mama had always said follow the River. It always leads somewhere.

Nashua hugs the banks of it, curving and winding by its side like he should his mother’s. Loess and the Forest linger unknown to him on his right. To his left sprawls out the Meadow and learning that the trees here are wrong and not nearly as impressive as those of his home, the pegasus colt instead walks through a crowd of strange horses. His earlier determination at learning how to fly fades away with each new face and his stride becomes more eager, fluid as he takes in the sights and sounds around him. It's full of strange horses.

And strangers have proven to be rather fascinating lately.

The stallion with four socks might think he has no story but Nashua sees something else. He’s a stallion who looks very much like him.

He stops in front of the grazing horse, regarding him with pricked ears and bright green eyes. "You should have wings,” Nash says as if the stallion could craft them from thin air. Grinning, he adds, "then we’d almost match.” Apart from his flaxen mane, his emerald eyes, his gold stripes that is. But overflowing with childhood enthusiasm, the boy has momentarily overlooked those (not so minor) differences.

and for every king that died
they would crown another

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@[Castile]