---

A low grunt permiates the air, a visible puff in the bitter cold stemming from his exhale. Denver was accustomed to the uncomfortable cold of winter, his coat having grown to adapt to nature's bitter chills - but the stallion still maintained a sour taste for the season. Perhaps it was disdain for his memories that lie north of here, through the forests and mountains once claimed by his father. Denver had not stepped foot in the Moraine Mountains since the King had kicked him out, and he imagined things must have been quite different from how they were when he was much younger. Sure, the stallion had heard of a new King, likely one of Alonso's other sons - but Denver really had no interest in such an encounter. His arrival might have even been seen as threatening, and well, truthfully the brute could stand to care a little less.

He'd found comfort - perhaps not a home, but some solace at least - amongst the other bachelors of the free lands. They weren't quite a band, more of a scattered brotherhood. They'd keep an eye out for another, be generally amicable, and stay out of one another's way when they needed to.

Along the riverside, he could see some early signs of spring's approach - which bode well, though he knew they would still find some struggle through the coming weeks. His stomach rumbled, desperate for something more to eat than what little he could find as it is, as he strolled alongside the thawing river. The water was cold, but at least a drop to drink was somewhat easier for him to come by. He lowered his head to drink, and braced for the cold as it slid down his throat.

At least, for a time, he could enjoy the peace and quiet.

---