great clouds rolling over the hills
and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel
He doesn’t recognize him. There is a certain amount of familiarity inside him for his own children, and Neraza’s, but some of that he is convinced is in the magic threads of Beqanna. As for the children of others – the likeness would have to be uncanny or he’d have to be much more familiar with the family. As it is, he barely knew Mountain. Certainly not well enough to see him in a child he’s never met.
And to an extent, it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t believe the sins of the father are the sins of the son – not really. There are some of course who choose to follow the unwise pathways of their parents, but not all of them. Not even most of them.
But all Brennen sees is a child, black and green and standing alone on the borders. He meanders that way, wings tucked closely into his body, tips trailing far behind him against the ice-hard ground. A half of a smile quirks on his face as he takes a closer look, staring at the boy dwarfed by the ice wall. “Hello,” he drawls the word, an accent he picked up from his father so long ago. It’s heavier when he’s at ease; and he’s at ease here, facing nothing more than a colt. “I’m Brennen.”
For a moment, he looks away, eyes tracking their surroundings, the skies; finding nothing. There’s no mother out there unless she’s invisible entirely. Brennen looks back to the boy, shifting his weight to relax into ease. He doesn’t say that the boy’s a little young to be out here by himself – he knows that would just annoy the young man – but he thinks it. He wonders.
He was a lost child once. He found his father in the Tundra. He wonders what the boy will find.