His lungs burn from the cold and he coughs. Never before had he experienced snow or the frigid cruelness of the land, his jungles were warm and forgiving. After he left, Isak was not sure there were any other places like the one he’d grown up in and has decided the rest of the world must be bitter and frozen. A wasteland meant for hardier folk, it’s not meant for little boys who never learned how to grow up. He would prefer to have stayed with his mother forever, beneath her ever watchful eyes and never know the outside world. His father had been a shadow that slipped in and out of her life, he changed everything for the warrior queen -- he made her soft and she bowed under the weight of motherhood.
Isak thinks back on his childhood fondly and aches to remember that he cannot ever return. He is a weakness, he is something that would only bring suffering to those he loved. With a quiet shuffle he lowers his head back down to the snow drift, lipping at the icy snow.
Isak made her weak and because of that, he left. It was his own decision, or maybe it was the decision of the other mares who needed their queen to fight their battles. He slipped away in the night, in the darkness he ran far and fast until no one could remember his name. Isak would never be anyone’s weakness again.
There is something about the snow that is blinding, it makes his dark eyes squint. He is a dark mass against the whiteness. He feels hunger claw at his belly. This was nothing like home and it makes his heart wilt inside his chest, there is something hopeless about the snow. Isak hears her footsteps before he hears her voice, his head lifts partially, an ear flicks -- he’s not worried, if anything he’s comforted. He was used to mares, they were the only family he’d never known.
Her voice presses against him, warm and eager. The bay stallion takes in a deep breath and exhales somberly. “Isak,” he says softly to her and his nose extends in a passive greeting. There is something both excited and miserable that swells up inside him.
When Ea tells him about her home, he lifts his blocky head. Something akin to familiarity twinkles in his dark eyes and he gives her the slightest smile. “I lived on an island all my life,” he tells her, “in the jungle and swimming was my favorite sport among the mares.”
Isak thinks back on his childhood fondly and aches to remember that he cannot ever return. He is a weakness, he is something that would only bring suffering to those he loved. With a quiet shuffle he lowers his head back down to the snow drift, lipping at the icy snow.